The K-155 Nerpa was Russia’s quietest submarine, and the United States and Britain were still trying to figure out how it could be so quiet. Construction of the Nerpa-class subs began in 1991 but was delayed for 10 years because of funding.
During test trials for the Indian Navy in the Sea of Japan, November, 2008, the fire suppression system of the K-152 Russian submarine suffered a sensor malfunction and detected a fire in one of the sub’s sleeping quarters, though there was no fire.
As the system responded with fire suppressant, all the oxygen was sucked from the sleeping quarters. Three sailors and seventeen shipyard workers were killed. Military strategists in the United States were surprised to learn that 280 people were aboard the sub, considering its maximum design criteria of less than one hundred people. They found the ability to sustain such a load, troublesome.
A newer sub, leased by the Indian Navy in 2010, the Nerpa- 155 attack sub reportedly had twenty torpedo tubes but carried no nuclear weapons, at least none known by the various international intelligence agencies. Of course India would never have made the lease arrangements had the sub not had nuclear missile capability, and it did, two silos for nuclear tipped cruise missiles. The missiles could only be launched when the submarine surfaced, unlike a ballistic missile that could be fired from under the sea.
The most mind-blowing feature of the sub, known by very few in the Russian military, was the thermonuclear weapons pods. The pods could exit the submarines via the pressurized escape hatch that was designed for small mini-subs. Straight out of the movie Transformers, a pod would emerge from the belly of the attack sub and robotically come to life, the pod metamorphosizing into the launch platform with a 5-megaton ballistic missile, preprogrammed and aimed at the selected target, anything within 750 miles. The Nerpa submarine’s missile systems did not have the range of an intercontinental ballistic missile, as did those of the Nerpa’s big brothers in the Russian Navy.
Once the pod was ejected and activated, the submarine would continue its journey. The sub would be nowhere around when the military satellites detected the launch and would be protected from the submarine hunters who would rush to the area of launch.
The sub continued quietly to its destination, 500 miles off the coast of Diego Garcia, an isolated atoll within the Indian Ocean. The Nerpa would be halfway between India and Diego Garcia, home of the U.S. B-52 Stratofortress bomber fleet and the Stealth B1-B bomber, both aircraft nuclear capable.
The Nerpa sub’s Chechnyan commander thought the fireworks would be grand, but the sub would be long gone before they began.
Thanksgiving had come and gone and time edged ever closer to Christmas Day. By the time Ricky, a.k.a. Vinny, had delivery plans prepared for his Christmas surprise, Jeff and Melissa Ross would be planning their trip to Grand Cayman, where they would wait out the potential impact of the heavenly body hurling toward Earth, a gift from Allah, Ricky was sure.
Searching the internet, Ricky easily retrieved the schematics and piloting instructions for the Discovery 1000 luxury sub from one of the many clandestine jihadist sites available on the web. He had cleverly arranged for one of his Sunni friends, a warrior who had been in the States long enough to learn the unique Southern accent, to apply as pilot of Bubba Haskins’ Labor Day launch extravaganza.
The launch was a success, with a fireworks show and all the Hebrew National hot dogs that the kiddies and their parents could eat. The venture took off, and Leon was thrilled. Even he could not believe so many would ante up $ 250 for a ride into the depths of darkness to see catfish, old houses and the tops of pine trees in Lake Lanier, the trees no longer green, their photosynthesizing capabilities long erased. He remembered all the Jews who had won Nobel prizes and had been blessed with financial security, and he really did believe that Jews were chosen by God. It seemed like tough duty, being chosen, at least for Leon’s ancestors who had suffered the Holocaust.
As the new submarine pilot, Nimrod and Bubba became good friends, hit it off from the start. The jihadists were well schooled in how to blend in, to be one of the boys. They were good at it, as good as Hollywood’s best. Leon’s venture was not licensed for night excursions, the Army Corps of Engineers still cautious about the underwater tour business; but he was working his contacts to make it happen. Nimrod would surely have no problem piloting the sub at night, when the given night arrived.
At the J. Blanton concrete plant in Arizona, Ricky packed the two briefcase nukes into the hidden container that had been welded into the gas tank of the Dodge pickup truck. With a Confederate flag in the back window, he began his journey eastward to meet Nimrod. Ricky at first hesitated to confide the mission to the submarine pilot; but upon delivery of the briefcase nukes, wrapped and hidden in the waterproof enclosures, Ricky decided to confide in his friend. He knew it would make his day. Lake Lanier was the home of Buford Dam, soon to be an ex-dam.
Melissa cleaned up, placing the Mikasa dinnerware gently into the dishwasher. Since Jeff’s accident at Park Place, even after his recovery, she visited more often than in the past four years. They enjoyed conversations and reminisced about forgotten times, times that had not been forgotten after all. They had always been able to converse about almost anything, except religion; but Jeff tried not to read between the lines. He didn’t want to put too much hope in reconciliation; because he still did not believe in God and Divine Intervention, though he was beginning to question his beliefs, or lack of. Melissa had once told him in a fit of anger that it would take Divine Intervention for her to ever come back.
“I talked to Jenni and Jami, you know, about the asteroid or whatever it is. They didn’t seem that upset. I guess they’re too young to know the gravity of the situation.” Melissa was surprised that they were still more interested in partying than surviving a cataclysmic collision; but in her own mind, she knew the collision wouldn’t happen. Revelation described a large mountain falling into the sea, but other things had to happen first.
“No one seems to be upset about it, at least according to the news. I’m not sure if everyone has succumbed to the reality and knows they can do nothing about it, or if they really believe that a bombardment of nuclear missiles could abort the object’s course, or modify it enough to miss Earth.”
Jeff and Chad had discussed the ballistic missile plan to divert the unknown space object, and something going on between the new Italian ruler and the U.S. President.
The President and the new leader of Italy had become good friends over the last six months since Gianni Altobelli was freely elected. Though Europe was suffering through its worst economic crisis in history, Altobelli had turned Italy around in six months. His measures were tiresome, and sometimes felt futile to the Italian citizenry; but the new Prime Minister had done what he said he would. He had also quarantined Italy for the past three months, successfully stopping the smallpox invasion in its tracks, at least in Italy. All of Europe was amazed; and some of Europe’s leaders were envious, but also inspired. Just a year before, no one outside Italy had even heard of Gianni Altobelli.
The United States-Italian plan to bring the world’s powers together would be fraught with i’s to dot and t’s to cross; but the leaders knew that it would take all the ICBMs of the world, and then some, to stop this thing.
The strategists determined that it would take three waves of approximately one thousand ICBMs per wave to have any chance of diverting the massive and dense object headed toward Earth. Unfortunately, because of missile treaties, the world didn’t have 3,000 ICBMs anymore. Russia and the United States had been eagerly disenfranchising and destroying the missiles under the new peace agreement. Now the question, assuming the world powers could actually work together: Could 1500 ICBMs do the trick?
The world powers should have 1500 or so ICBMs and would have more except for the two that were being stationed on the ocean floor, about thirty feet below the surface of first, the Indian Ocean, and then the Gulf of Mexico.
Melissa interrupted Jeff’s thoughts.
“Of course, Audry wants to go with us to Grand Cayman, it’s the beach you know; but she doesn’t seem worried either. That seems so strange, but I know she’s just a kid.” Melissa’s world had turned very Twilight Zonish of late. “Jenni and Jami want to stay here with their friends. They want to have an NEO Party. Can you believe that? I assured them there would be no NEO hitting the Earth.”
Jeff silently questioned how Melissa could be so confident that it wouldn’t hit but said nothing.
“Well, like we discussed, if we are going to be exterminated, I can’t think of a better place for it to happen than on Seven Mile Beach in Grand Cayman. Gray and Andi feel exactly the same. We will go down a few days before Christmas and stay until the ICBM diversion plan is activated. That should be about January 12th or 13th if everything goes right. Our missiles can only travel so far and so fast. Then we will have Audry fly to Grand Cayman to be with us.
“The plan is to intercept when the object is about fifteen million miles from impact; and that will be the maximum range, assuming the powers-that-be can come together. The launch will have to be well before Christmas, probably by December 10th.”
Jeff had no confidence the plan would work, but if he could die with Melissa and Audry, that was fine with him. It would be quick.
Melissa felt that she and the girls would go to heaven for their entry into the next life, the eternal one. Jeff did not believe in eternal life.