Any other thoughts about the chapter? Was the pacing good? Did the writing flow well?
Shelter From the Storm- P&S: Dutch Harbor, Alaska
- Thread starter General_Paul
- Start date
It was also a toss-up as to whether the Polar Victory would bite the bullet during the war or because of stormy weather after the Exchange. I ended up flipping the proverbial coin and decided on it sinking in the crossfire.
The next chapter, coming either tomorrow or this weekend, will be the Exchange and the immediate reactions from the townsfolk of Dutch Harbor. There will be a few surprises in the hours following the Exchange and, of course, fighting between the residents of the town over what to do.
It'll either be the first nuclear weapon going off in Germany, or the first warheads to impact Elmendorf, Shemya, and Adak, which would be a few minutes before the major salvo starts hitting the Lower 48.
I've run into a wonderful snag while doing research for the next few chapters: With the destruction of Juneau, Fairbanks, and Anchorage, the Soviets have effectively decapitated the state government and eliminated any line of succession for the governorship. Under Alaska state law, should the line of governor's succession be broken in a national or state emergency, then the military commander of the Alaska State Guard/Militia would become governor during the crisis and take command of all state civilian and military resources, with the Alaska National Guard following their orders. Problem is...the commander of the Alaska State Guard's offices are located at Fort Richardson as per the Alaska Constitution, which takes a direct hit during the February 21st exchange. As well, only the governor with approval of the legislature can nominate a new commander of the State Guard. State and national FEMA/Civil Defense offices are centralized at Juneau, Fairbanks, and Anchorage, and guess which cities got hit during the exchange?
The State Constitution doesn't have a whole lot of provisions for line of succession, and the State Continuity of Operations plans weren't officially codified until Homeland Security stepped in after September 11. The state constitution was very vague about a lot of things for a reason: It was purposely left short to allow future legislatures to expand on the document. They wanted to get the statehood provision on the November ballot and approval from the US Congress, so a lot of areas where other state constitutions would go into detail, the Alaska Constitution is very vague and general. There are no constitutional amendments or legal provisions for state continuity of government in the event of a total decapitation strike that removes both the civilian government as well as the Alaska State Guard headquarters.
On top of that, even if a few State Senators or members of the State House of Representatives survived the exchange, February is when the state legislature is in session, legislative sessions run from January 30 until April 30 under the Alaska Constitution. Even if a handful survived the exchange, there are nowhere near enough Senators or Rep's for a quorum to discuss selecting a new governor. Legally, the governor couldn't order the legislature to return home during their yearly session even with the threat of war and possible nuclear attack as it would violate the state constitution. The only logical places for the state House and Senate to move and reconvene would be...Anchorage or Fairbanks, the only two cities with the infrastructure to support the state government.
Oh, and this is the height of bill writing season, so the governor's cabinet would be in Juneau to advise Governor Sheffield. Most of his cabinet was from urban Alaska meaning the Anchorage metro area or the Fairbanks metro area. There would be a few cabinet members from the rural areas, but they'd be in Juneau to advise the governor on the legislative session and the crisis with the Soviets.
So to recap/TLDR readers: No line of succession for governorship, state legislature is in session at time of attack, and governor's cabinet is at a central location in Juneau at the time of attack. Commander of Alaska State Guard is at Richardson at time of attack, meaning that the Alaska State Guard cannot step into its constitutional role to safeguard the state after the nuclear attack and state government decapitation. State and Federal Emergency Management Agencies' offices centralized in Juneau, Anchorage, and Fairbanks. No constitutional provisions or legal framework for this situation. All lines of succession, both civilian and military, are eliminated in the exchange.
Have I just stepped into a gigantic clusterfuck of legal writing for the next few chapters plot wise?
The State Constitution doesn't have a whole lot of provisions for line of succession, and the State Continuity of Operations plans weren't officially codified until Homeland Security stepped in after September 11. The state constitution was very vague about a lot of things for a reason: It was purposely left short to allow future legislatures to expand on the document. They wanted to get the statehood provision on the November ballot and approval from the US Congress, so a lot of areas where other state constitutions would go into detail, the Alaska Constitution is very vague and general. There are no constitutional amendments or legal provisions for state continuity of government in the event of a total decapitation strike that removes both the civilian government as well as the Alaska State Guard headquarters.
On top of that, even if a few State Senators or members of the State House of Representatives survived the exchange, February is when the state legislature is in session, legislative sessions run from January 30 until April 30 under the Alaska Constitution. Even if a handful survived the exchange, there are nowhere near enough Senators or Rep's for a quorum to discuss selecting a new governor. Legally, the governor couldn't order the legislature to return home during their yearly session even with the threat of war and possible nuclear attack as it would violate the state constitution. The only logical places for the state House and Senate to move and reconvene would be...Anchorage or Fairbanks, the only two cities with the infrastructure to support the state government.
Oh, and this is the height of bill writing season, so the governor's cabinet would be in Juneau to advise Governor Sheffield. Most of his cabinet was from urban Alaska meaning the Anchorage metro area or the Fairbanks metro area. There would be a few cabinet members from the rural areas, but they'd be in Juneau to advise the governor on the legislative session and the crisis with the Soviets.
So to recap/TLDR readers: No line of succession for governorship, state legislature is in session at time of attack, and governor's cabinet is at a central location in Juneau at the time of attack. Commander of Alaska State Guard is at Richardson at time of attack, meaning that the Alaska State Guard cannot step into its constitutional role to safeguard the state after the nuclear attack and state government decapitation. State and Federal Emergency Management Agencies' offices centralized in Juneau, Anchorage, and Fairbanks. No constitutional provisions or legal framework for this situation. All lines of succession, both civilian and military, are eliminated in the exchange.
Have I just stepped into a gigantic clusterfuck of legal writing for the next few chapters plot wise?
I would assume the highest ranking officer of the State Guard who is still alive would be pressed into service as the governor, simply by being the new 'General' of the state guard. Said Officer will be completely shocked and surprised. I'd guess a Major, Lt. Col., or Col. would be the likely survivor
Chapter Five, Part One
Part one of my Chapter Five mega update. More to come soon...
Chapter 5- Day of Fire
Casco Cove Coast Guard Station
Attu Island, Western Aleutian Islands, Alaska, USA
8:50AM Western Aleutians Time
The base commander had awakened four hours before to the sound of blissful silence, save for the occasional radio squawk or soft murmur of men and women going to their duty stations. Casco Cove was not big enough to warrant any kind of military attention, Attu Island was too far out on the chain to justify putting a base to the west of Shemya Island, and it was too mountainous to build a larger runway than what was there already from the war. Thus, the seventy Coast Guard officers and enlisted men and women were relatively safe from any kind of reprisal attacks by the Soviet Air Force or Soviet Navy. Some of the officers had privately voiced concerns to the commander that they could be the first target for a Soviet invasion if the war continued on much longer. They had few weapons, save the M-16 rifles and side arms that were standard issue. They had too few bullets, too few rifles, and too few people to guard the base if Soviet Spetznatz forces landed and were determined to seize the airstrip and the Coast Guard station. The commander knew that, if it came to that, he would personally offer the base’s surrender to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. He was a patriot, but he was not stupid. Dying out here, a hundred or so miles from the nearest military base and with no hope of rescue was not his idea of heroism.
The men and women stationed at Casco Cove were unusually silent this morning. Usually, they were a somewhat boisterous bunch having no one but each other to keep them company. Seventy men and women guarding a base at the western most edge of United States territory, in the middle of an angry and hostile sea, with a small landing strip and a radio broadcaster and receiver were all that stood on this island that had once been the site of tremendous bloodshed during the Second World War. On this island where once thousands of men fought and died, now only seventy remained, manning a LORAN radio navigation system, a landing strip, and a few buildings. This morning the news of continued fighting in Germany that had escalated to the use of biological and chemical weapons following the twin American and Soviet nuclear blasts meant that the base was, for all intents and purposes on alert. They had seen a few explosions, telltale signs of aerial dogfighting to the north and east of the island, but nothing had come near them so far.
“Commander, I think you need to see this,” said a young Ensign who had come into the commander’s office holding an official communique from the telex.
COMMANDERS’ EYES ONLY
TO ALL USCG COMMANDERS
---CONTINUED USE OF CHEMICAL AND BIOLOGICAL WEAPONS IN EUROPE THEATER BY NATO AND SOVIET ARMIES.
---JOINT COMMAND HEADQUARTERS AT HEIDELBERG, WEST GERMANY DESTROYED BY NUCLEAR WEAPON OF UNDETERMINED STRENGTH.
---THEATER NUCLEAR EXCHANGE BETWEEN NATO AND WARSAW PACT, UNDETERMINED DAMAGE TO MILITARY ASSETS IN CENTRAL EUROPE.
---US MILITARY CURRENTLY HOLDING AT COCKED PISTOL
---IF STRATEGIC RELEASE IS AUTHORIZED BY COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF, SECDEF AUTHORIZES USCG PERSONNEL TO TAKE ANY AND ALL APPROPRIATE ACTIONS TO SAFEGUARD LIFE AND PROPERTY ON ALL BODIES OF WATER IN EVENT OF NUCLEAR EXCHANGE.
---TO BASE COMMANDERS: PACRIM AND ATLANTIC COAST- COORDINATE EFFORTS WITH USN FOR S.A.R OPERATIONS POST-EXCHANGE. HIGHEST PRIORITY TO BE PLACED ON RESCUE AND RECOVERY OF USN PERSONNEL AND VESSELS IN NEED OF ASSISTANCE, RESCUE AND RECOVERY OF CIVILIAN VESSELS TO FOLLOW WARTIME HIERARCHY CHART DISTRIBUTED 1 FEB 1984.
---GOD BE WITH US ALL.
---JAMES S. GRACEY, USCG COMMANDANT
The commander re-read the communication several times before allowing it to sink in. The United States and the Soviet Union were in the middle of a theater nuclear exchange. He knew that there was only one direction that this could take: Strategic nuclear launch. If it came to that, he and his sailors would have a front row seat to Armageddon. He picked up the phone and dialed down to the communications center.
“Communications center,” said the voice on the other end.
“Comm center, this is the Commander. Have we received any addition communications from the Pentagon?” The Commander asked, hesitation creeping into his voice. He was not sure if he wanted to know the answer.
“Negative skipper, we haven’t received any additional communiques from the Lower Forty-Eight regarding the situation with the Soviets,” said the communications officer.
“Anything from Juneau or Sitka about our situation out here in the Aleutians,” asked the commander.
“There was a communique that came in a few minutes ago. They received a radio transmission from Dutch Harbor on the evening of the nineteenth. A Soviet bomber penetrated our air defenses and launched two air-to-surface missiles at ships in harbor. The USCGC Mellon received a hit to her bow and is unable to leave harbor for the time being, second missile impacted a crab boat moored at one of the docks inside the breakwater, killed the captain, deck chief, and a ten year old boy who was walking on the street. We have been warned to keep our eyes peeled for possible additional Soviet air incursions. If one is sighted, we are to tune to USN frequencies and alert them of the air presence,” the comm officer said.
“Affirmative…” the commander replied.
“Skipper, we’re getting something in on the teletype now. Sir…I think you need to come down and take a look at this yourself,” said the communications officer.
“Ensign, we don’t have time for this. We’re in the middle of a war, just tell me,” the commander replied. He was not about to play a game of twenty questions with the Ensign.
“Sir… it’s an alert from the Pentagon…”
The commander had a bad feeling about this. The Ensign was not one to play around or yank his chain. With that tone of voice, he knew something terrible was about to happen.
“Don’t…don’t finish that. I’ll be down to see,” the commander replied as he slammed the phone down and ran out of his office.
He sprinted down the hallways of the wooden building, polished shoes meeting wooden floor, staccato notes ringing hollow through what seemed to be an empty building. The men and women of Casco Cove were emerging from their offices to watch the commander running down the narrow, window-lined hall that ran the length of the building. Outside, the sun was just beginning to ascend into the morning sky. Venus was still shining brightly, as was the moon. It was the start of yet another cold and average day on Attu Island, but the sight of the commander dashing down the hallway towards the communications room was enough to strike any belief in the normalcy of that day.
The commander reached the small door marked “Communications Office.” He threw the door open and rushed to the comm officer’s desk.
The Ensign was holding a telex paper in his hand; he could see tears falling down from his eyes and onto his white uniform slacks.
“Ensign, give me the telex,” said the commander. His Ensign merely raised his right hand, the communique slightly crumpled at the edges. It had printed on it the words he had feared to read ever since the evening of the seventeenth.
“EMERGENCY ACTION NOTIFICATION---WE HAVE A CONFIRMED SOVIET LAUNCH OF STRATEGIC NUCLEAR MISSILES AGAINST TARGETS IN WESTERN EUROPE AND NORTH AMERICA. ALL FORCES PREPARE TO TAKE IMMEDIATE SHELTER. MAY GOD WATCH OVER YOU AND PROTECT YOU
---PRESIDENT RONALD REAGAN”
The commander looked up from the paper at the door. Many of the men and women who saw him running down the hall were gathered at the entryway to the small office. They looked at him with curious, but knowing eyes. His face had taken a look of pain, sorrow even. None of them gathered at the door needed explanation, they knew what the paper said from the look in his eyes.
“Skipper, what do we do now?” One young female ensign at the door asked him. He could see that her legs were shaking. Two other sailors were trembling as well, a fresh-faced nineteen-year-old Seaman Recruit nicknamed ‘Lucky’ and a Petty Officer Third Class. Both looked as if they were about to fall to the ground. The rest were in shock.
“We do our duty. We are still sailors in the United States Coast Guard,” he replied.
He turned back to the communications officer and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. It was all he could think to do in the moment.
“Ensign Martinez, I want you to turn on the radio and begin searching the frequencies. See if we can pick up anything,” he said in as calm a voice as he possible. Ensign Martinez weakly nodded his head.
The Ensign toggled the ‘On’ switch located at the front of the radio and began tuning the military radio. The fuzz and atmospheric static began to give way as he slowly worked his way through the frequencies. The sound of a proud, yet shaky voice began to fill the office.
“ALLONS ENFANTS DE LA PATRIE,
LE JOUR DE GLORIE EST ARRIVE!
CONTRE NOUS DE LA TYRANNIE
L’ETENDARD SANGLANT EST LEVE!
ENTENDEZ-VOUS DANS LE CAMPAGNES
MUGIR CES FEROCES SOLDAT?
ILS VIENNENT JUSQUE DANS NO BRAS
EGORGER DOS FILS ET NOS COMPAGNES!
AUX ARMES, MES CITOYENS!
FORMEZ VOS BATAILLONS!
MARCHONS! MARCHONS!
QU’UN SANG IMPUR!
ABREUVE NOS SILLONS!”
The Ensign stopped for a moment to let the song fill the room. The others gathered at the door had managed to fit into the small room. No one was jostling to get a better view of the Ensign tuning the radio. They stood silently, a few began weeping softly. The Ensign turned the radio dial again, the sounds of the French anthem fading. Attu’s location in the Aleutians meant that they could receive radio transmissions from all over the world. Radio frequency bleed-over occurred, but more often than not they could get clear signals. Another signal began fading in as Ensign Martinez slowed his tuning. A defiant, unflinching voice filled the room. There was static interference, but the song came in all the same.
“...EINIGKET UND RECHT UND FREIHEIT
FUR DAS DEUTSCHE VATERLAND!
DANACH LASST UNS ALLE STREBEN
BRUDERLICH MIT HERTZ UND HAND...“
The voice came to an abrupt stop, static atmospheric noise filtered through the metallic speakers on the radio set. Those gathered in the room knew what the static represented. It did not need to be said.
Dimly out of the corner of his right eye, the commander saw a flash of light coming out of the doorway. The others gathered in the room saw it as well. All of them turned to look; one thought flew through their minds. They quickly ran out of the room, leaving Ensign Martinez to man the radio. As they left, the Commander could see Martinez begin to sob. His torso was heaving, his left hand was covering his eyes as he continued to tune the dial. The commander knew that one man had to be left behind to listen in for any additional orders, but he felt a heavy weight settle between his shoulders, guilt for leaving the young sailor behind to listen to the sounds of a dying world. He would have stayed with him, but he needed to see with his own eyes what he suspected to be the cause of the flash.
The crowd had gathered in the open outside the building, forming two groups on either side of the double doors that were opened to the North Pacific wind. He normally would have reprimanded the sailors strongly for leaving the doors open like that, but at this moment he could have cared less. They were looking to the Southwest, in the direction of the other islands of the Aleutians. He made his way out of the entryway, stepping down the wooden stairs and onto the gravel path that lined the building.
In the Southwest, a sickly orange-red-yellow glow had appeared on the horizon. The commander had seen the movie reels as a child in the cinema and had been given briefing documents about what a thermonuclear detonation would look like. But nothing prepared him for seeing it in person. The mushroom cloud was large enough to be seen clearly, defined against the dim morning sky. It was rising fast into the atmosphere, a white cauliflower-shaped crown atop a tall column of white clouds. Concentric circles formed noticeably in the stem of the mushroom cloud, condensed thick rings interspersed throughout.
“That has to be at least…one or two megatons I’d think,” one Seaman remarked.
“Seaman, I don’t think it matters how big that thing was,” the Commander replied.
In the Southwest, over a hundred miles away, the island of Shemya disappeared into the fires of the thermonuclear blast.
The commander knew that Shemya was only part of it. A thousand miles away on the Alaskan mainland, Elmendorf Air Force Base, Fort Richardson, and other military installations would be joining Shemya in the funeral pyre.
Suddenly, the commander heard a sharp crack from the direction of the building. He turned around to look, a pit formed in his stomach, hard as rock. The commander rushed into the building, praying that his fears were not to be realized.
He ran into the communications room and saw Ensign Martinez slumped over the desk, a Colt pistol in his right hand. The Ensign had blown the side of his head apart. The wall next to him was painted with blood, chips of bone, and bits of brain matter that dripped in obscene channels down the wall and onto the polished wood floor. The communications room was filled with the sound of a woman’s voice:
“OUR FATHER, WHO ART IN HEAVEN, HALLOWED BE THY NAME, THY KINGDOM COME, THY WILL BE DONE, IN EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN, GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD, AND FORGIVE US OUR TRESSPASSES, AS WE FORGIVE THOSE WHO TRESPASS AGAINST US…”
The commander reached over and turned the volume down. Ensign Gabriel Martinez, twenty-four years old, of Boco Ratan, Florida, the son of Cuban emigrants who came to the United States in 1959 fleeing from Castro’s revolution. Another victim of the Third World War.
Part one of my Chapter Five mega update. More to come soon...
Chapter 5- Day of Fire
Casco Cove Coast Guard Station
Attu Island, Western Aleutian Islands, Alaska, USA
8:50AM Western Aleutians Time
The base commander had awakened four hours before to the sound of blissful silence, save for the occasional radio squawk or soft murmur of men and women going to their duty stations. Casco Cove was not big enough to warrant any kind of military attention, Attu Island was too far out on the chain to justify putting a base to the west of Shemya Island, and it was too mountainous to build a larger runway than what was there already from the war. Thus, the seventy Coast Guard officers and enlisted men and women were relatively safe from any kind of reprisal attacks by the Soviet Air Force or Soviet Navy. Some of the officers had privately voiced concerns to the commander that they could be the first target for a Soviet invasion if the war continued on much longer. They had few weapons, save the M-16 rifles and side arms that were standard issue. They had too few bullets, too few rifles, and too few people to guard the base if Soviet Spetznatz forces landed and were determined to seize the airstrip and the Coast Guard station. The commander knew that, if it came to that, he would personally offer the base’s surrender to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. He was a patriot, but he was not stupid. Dying out here, a hundred or so miles from the nearest military base and with no hope of rescue was not his idea of heroism.
The men and women stationed at Casco Cove were unusually silent this morning. Usually, they were a somewhat boisterous bunch having no one but each other to keep them company. Seventy men and women guarding a base at the western most edge of United States territory, in the middle of an angry and hostile sea, with a small landing strip and a radio broadcaster and receiver were all that stood on this island that had once been the site of tremendous bloodshed during the Second World War. On this island where once thousands of men fought and died, now only seventy remained, manning a LORAN radio navigation system, a landing strip, and a few buildings. This morning the news of continued fighting in Germany that had escalated to the use of biological and chemical weapons following the twin American and Soviet nuclear blasts meant that the base was, for all intents and purposes on alert. They had seen a few explosions, telltale signs of aerial dogfighting to the north and east of the island, but nothing had come near them so far.
“Commander, I think you need to see this,” said a young Ensign who had come into the commander’s office holding an official communique from the telex.
COMMANDERS’ EYES ONLY
TO ALL USCG COMMANDERS
---CONTINUED USE OF CHEMICAL AND BIOLOGICAL WEAPONS IN EUROPE THEATER BY NATO AND SOVIET ARMIES.
---JOINT COMMAND HEADQUARTERS AT HEIDELBERG, WEST GERMANY DESTROYED BY NUCLEAR WEAPON OF UNDETERMINED STRENGTH.
---THEATER NUCLEAR EXCHANGE BETWEEN NATO AND WARSAW PACT, UNDETERMINED DAMAGE TO MILITARY ASSETS IN CENTRAL EUROPE.
---US MILITARY CURRENTLY HOLDING AT COCKED PISTOL
---IF STRATEGIC RELEASE IS AUTHORIZED BY COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF, SECDEF AUTHORIZES USCG PERSONNEL TO TAKE ANY AND ALL APPROPRIATE ACTIONS TO SAFEGUARD LIFE AND PROPERTY ON ALL BODIES OF WATER IN EVENT OF NUCLEAR EXCHANGE.
---TO BASE COMMANDERS: PACRIM AND ATLANTIC COAST- COORDINATE EFFORTS WITH USN FOR S.A.R OPERATIONS POST-EXCHANGE. HIGHEST PRIORITY TO BE PLACED ON RESCUE AND RECOVERY OF USN PERSONNEL AND VESSELS IN NEED OF ASSISTANCE, RESCUE AND RECOVERY OF CIVILIAN VESSELS TO FOLLOW WARTIME HIERARCHY CHART DISTRIBUTED 1 FEB 1984.
---GOD BE WITH US ALL.
---JAMES S. GRACEY, USCG COMMANDANT
The commander re-read the communication several times before allowing it to sink in. The United States and the Soviet Union were in the middle of a theater nuclear exchange. He knew that there was only one direction that this could take: Strategic nuclear launch. If it came to that, he and his sailors would have a front row seat to Armageddon. He picked up the phone and dialed down to the communications center.
“Communications center,” said the voice on the other end.
“Comm center, this is the Commander. Have we received any addition communications from the Pentagon?” The Commander asked, hesitation creeping into his voice. He was not sure if he wanted to know the answer.
“Negative skipper, we haven’t received any additional communiques from the Lower Forty-Eight regarding the situation with the Soviets,” said the communications officer.
“Anything from Juneau or Sitka about our situation out here in the Aleutians,” asked the commander.
“There was a communique that came in a few minutes ago. They received a radio transmission from Dutch Harbor on the evening of the nineteenth. A Soviet bomber penetrated our air defenses and launched two air-to-surface missiles at ships in harbor. The USCGC Mellon received a hit to her bow and is unable to leave harbor for the time being, second missile impacted a crab boat moored at one of the docks inside the breakwater, killed the captain, deck chief, and a ten year old boy who was walking on the street. We have been warned to keep our eyes peeled for possible additional Soviet air incursions. If one is sighted, we are to tune to USN frequencies and alert them of the air presence,” the comm officer said.
“Affirmative…” the commander replied.
“Skipper, we’re getting something in on the teletype now. Sir…I think you need to come down and take a look at this yourself,” said the communications officer.
“Ensign, we don’t have time for this. We’re in the middle of a war, just tell me,” the commander replied. He was not about to play a game of twenty questions with the Ensign.
“Sir… it’s an alert from the Pentagon…”
The commander had a bad feeling about this. The Ensign was not one to play around or yank his chain. With that tone of voice, he knew something terrible was about to happen.
“Don’t…don’t finish that. I’ll be down to see,” the commander replied as he slammed the phone down and ran out of his office.
He sprinted down the hallways of the wooden building, polished shoes meeting wooden floor, staccato notes ringing hollow through what seemed to be an empty building. The men and women of Casco Cove were emerging from their offices to watch the commander running down the narrow, window-lined hall that ran the length of the building. Outside, the sun was just beginning to ascend into the morning sky. Venus was still shining brightly, as was the moon. It was the start of yet another cold and average day on Attu Island, but the sight of the commander dashing down the hallway towards the communications room was enough to strike any belief in the normalcy of that day.
The commander reached the small door marked “Communications Office.” He threw the door open and rushed to the comm officer’s desk.
The Ensign was holding a telex paper in his hand; he could see tears falling down from his eyes and onto his white uniform slacks.
“Ensign, give me the telex,” said the commander. His Ensign merely raised his right hand, the communique slightly crumpled at the edges. It had printed on it the words he had feared to read ever since the evening of the seventeenth.
“EMERGENCY ACTION NOTIFICATION---WE HAVE A CONFIRMED SOVIET LAUNCH OF STRATEGIC NUCLEAR MISSILES AGAINST TARGETS IN WESTERN EUROPE AND NORTH AMERICA. ALL FORCES PREPARE TO TAKE IMMEDIATE SHELTER. MAY GOD WATCH OVER YOU AND PROTECT YOU
---PRESIDENT RONALD REAGAN”
The commander looked up from the paper at the door. Many of the men and women who saw him running down the hall were gathered at the entryway to the small office. They looked at him with curious, but knowing eyes. His face had taken a look of pain, sorrow even. None of them gathered at the door needed explanation, they knew what the paper said from the look in his eyes.
“Skipper, what do we do now?” One young female ensign at the door asked him. He could see that her legs were shaking. Two other sailors were trembling as well, a fresh-faced nineteen-year-old Seaman Recruit nicknamed ‘Lucky’ and a Petty Officer Third Class. Both looked as if they were about to fall to the ground. The rest were in shock.
“We do our duty. We are still sailors in the United States Coast Guard,” he replied.
He turned back to the communications officer and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. It was all he could think to do in the moment.
“Ensign Martinez, I want you to turn on the radio and begin searching the frequencies. See if we can pick up anything,” he said in as calm a voice as he possible. Ensign Martinez weakly nodded his head.
The Ensign toggled the ‘On’ switch located at the front of the radio and began tuning the military radio. The fuzz and atmospheric static began to give way as he slowly worked his way through the frequencies. The sound of a proud, yet shaky voice began to fill the office.
“ALLONS ENFANTS DE LA PATRIE,
LE JOUR DE GLORIE EST ARRIVE!
CONTRE NOUS DE LA TYRANNIE
L’ETENDARD SANGLANT EST LEVE!
ENTENDEZ-VOUS DANS LE CAMPAGNES
MUGIR CES FEROCES SOLDAT?
ILS VIENNENT JUSQUE DANS NO BRAS
EGORGER DOS FILS ET NOS COMPAGNES!
AUX ARMES, MES CITOYENS!
FORMEZ VOS BATAILLONS!
MARCHONS! MARCHONS!
QU’UN SANG IMPUR!
ABREUVE NOS SILLONS!”
The Ensign stopped for a moment to let the song fill the room. The others gathered at the door had managed to fit into the small room. No one was jostling to get a better view of the Ensign tuning the radio. They stood silently, a few began weeping softly. The Ensign turned the radio dial again, the sounds of the French anthem fading. Attu’s location in the Aleutians meant that they could receive radio transmissions from all over the world. Radio frequency bleed-over occurred, but more often than not they could get clear signals. Another signal began fading in as Ensign Martinez slowed his tuning. A defiant, unflinching voice filled the room. There was static interference, but the song came in all the same.
“...EINIGKET UND RECHT UND FREIHEIT
FUR DAS DEUTSCHE VATERLAND!
DANACH LASST UNS ALLE STREBEN
BRUDERLICH MIT HERTZ UND HAND...“
The voice came to an abrupt stop, static atmospheric noise filtered through the metallic speakers on the radio set. Those gathered in the room knew what the static represented. It did not need to be said.
Dimly out of the corner of his right eye, the commander saw a flash of light coming out of the doorway. The others gathered in the room saw it as well. All of them turned to look; one thought flew through their minds. They quickly ran out of the room, leaving Ensign Martinez to man the radio. As they left, the Commander could see Martinez begin to sob. His torso was heaving, his left hand was covering his eyes as he continued to tune the dial. The commander knew that one man had to be left behind to listen in for any additional orders, but he felt a heavy weight settle between his shoulders, guilt for leaving the young sailor behind to listen to the sounds of a dying world. He would have stayed with him, but he needed to see with his own eyes what he suspected to be the cause of the flash.
The crowd had gathered in the open outside the building, forming two groups on either side of the double doors that were opened to the North Pacific wind. He normally would have reprimanded the sailors strongly for leaving the doors open like that, but at this moment he could have cared less. They were looking to the Southwest, in the direction of the other islands of the Aleutians. He made his way out of the entryway, stepping down the wooden stairs and onto the gravel path that lined the building.
In the Southwest, a sickly orange-red-yellow glow had appeared on the horizon. The commander had seen the movie reels as a child in the cinema and had been given briefing documents about what a thermonuclear detonation would look like. But nothing prepared him for seeing it in person. The mushroom cloud was large enough to be seen clearly, defined against the dim morning sky. It was rising fast into the atmosphere, a white cauliflower-shaped crown atop a tall column of white clouds. Concentric circles formed noticeably in the stem of the mushroom cloud, condensed thick rings interspersed throughout.
“That has to be at least…one or two megatons I’d think,” one Seaman remarked.
“Seaman, I don’t think it matters how big that thing was,” the Commander replied.
In the Southwest, over a hundred miles away, the island of Shemya disappeared into the fires of the thermonuclear blast.
The commander knew that Shemya was only part of it. A thousand miles away on the Alaskan mainland, Elmendorf Air Force Base, Fort Richardson, and other military installations would be joining Shemya in the funeral pyre.
Suddenly, the commander heard a sharp crack from the direction of the building. He turned around to look, a pit formed in his stomach, hard as rock. The commander rushed into the building, praying that his fears were not to be realized.
He ran into the communications room and saw Ensign Martinez slumped over the desk, a Colt pistol in his right hand. The Ensign had blown the side of his head apart. The wall next to him was painted with blood, chips of bone, and bits of brain matter that dripped in obscene channels down the wall and onto the polished wood floor. The communications room was filled with the sound of a woman’s voice:
“OUR FATHER, WHO ART IN HEAVEN, HALLOWED BE THY NAME, THY KINGDOM COME, THY WILL BE DONE, IN EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN, GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD, AND FORGIVE US OUR TRESSPASSES, AS WE FORGIVE THOSE WHO TRESPASS AGAINST US…”
The commander reached over and turned the volume down. Ensign Gabriel Martinez, twenty-four years old, of Boco Ratan, Florida, the son of Cuban emigrants who came to the United States in 1959 fleeing from Castro’s revolution. Another victim of the Third World War.
I'd say that's where you come in as the author and creator of the storyline.
They can't be so rigid that they stick to putting their most important people in the very places they expect to get nuked. They have time to figure out how to protect their VIPs, even if it bends the State constitution.
Interesting timeline. In this situation maybe it will be the most charasmatic individual and/or the one who can control the most guns. There could be an interesting local power struggle in circumstances where all the senior military/political leadership have been killed. I would go down this route - it will make the story much more interesting.
Very good update, General Paul!
I'm sure a reconstitute state legislature could retroactively make legal this emergency solution.
He could also mobilize all remains of police and military forces in Alaska (surviving military units; Alaska Air National Guard; Alaska Army National Guard; Alaska Naval Militia - may or not exist since OTL it was created in 1984; Alaska State Troopers, and probably local police departments).
Alternatively, the highest ranking surviving military officer of any branch in Alaska could become acting governor.
That would be my reasoning too.
I'm sure a reconstitute state legislature could retroactively make legal this emergency solution.
He could also mobilize all remains of police and military forces in Alaska (surviving military units; Alaska Air National Guard; Alaska Army National Guard; Alaska Naval Militia - may or not exist since OTL it was created in 1984; Alaska State Troopers, and probably local police departments).
Alternatively, the highest ranking surviving military officer of any branch in Alaska could become acting governor.
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There might be a chance of at least a part of Juneau surviving if either 1: the old town, where the Alaska State Capitol is located and the area on Douglas Island aren't destroyed, or 2: if Mendenhall Valley doesn't get destroyed along with the airport. It looks to me like most of Juneau's population lives up in the Mendenhall Valley north of the airport.
Another thing is that I'd imagine that like Seattle and Vancouver and anywhere in between along the coast, Juneau and the Alaska Panhandle would often experience wet, cloudy weather during the winter months - this means if there was such weather in the Alaska Panhandle at the time of the nuclear war, this kind of weather condition would cut down on the thermal effects of any nuclear explosion, possibly resulting in much fewer fires.
You will also notice that Juneau is basically divided into two main parts separated by over 11 km (approx. 6.9 miles) due to the lack of suitable terrain to build one contiguous urbanized area in between. Which means short of a multimegaton nuke (not likely at all anyway!), the Soviets would need to use not one, but two submegaton-range nukes to take out both the old town and the airport.
However, I'll leave it up to you as to what happened to Alaska's state capital in the nuclear war. I greatly anticipate upcoming updates from you of any kind and keep up the good work!
Another thing is that I'd imagine that like Seattle and Vancouver and anywhere in between along the coast, Juneau and the Alaska Panhandle would often experience wet, cloudy weather during the winter months - this means if there was such weather in the Alaska Panhandle at the time of the nuclear war, this kind of weather condition would cut down on the thermal effects of any nuclear explosion, possibly resulting in much fewer fires.
You will also notice that Juneau is basically divided into two main parts separated by over 11 km (approx. 6.9 miles) due to the lack of suitable terrain to build one contiguous urbanized area in between. Which means short of a multimegaton nuke (not likely at all anyway!), the Soviets would need to use not one, but two submegaton-range nukes to take out both the old town and the airport.
However, I'll leave it up to you as to what happened to Alaska's state capital in the nuclear war. I greatly anticipate upcoming updates from you of any kind and keep up the good work!
Hello, General. I know the feeling of posting an epic and feeling like no one is reading.
I just re-read Alas, Babylon, so your story is scratching a newly re-awakened itch. Thanks for picking an unique setting, and I find your focus on survival and city politics (as opposed to shooting) interesting.