After Action

Capt. Hudson Personal Diary (Sept. 17)

Personal Diary Entry // Captain Mark Hudson, USAF
17 September 2018 // Visigoth Outpost Victor Charlie

The launch bay is my favorite part of the silo. 

For one thing, it's the biggest open space available to us. And while I know it's insensible and maybe unprofessional, there's just something soothing about sitting by the rocket. It's like going to the zoo and sitting by the big glass window outside the lions' den. Just a few inches of protection separate you from a vicious killing machine.

You can even hear the rocket growling, even it's just liquid fuel recirculating through the tanks. I can reach out and touch the rocket's cold metal skin, feel the subtle vibrations within, and picture the three warheads nestled in its cone. At the core of each warhead, three tennis balls of Uranium-235 are encased inside a perfectly spherical basketball of Uranium-238. 

My fingers touch a bomb small enough to fit in a broom closet, powerful enough to level a city. And yet, I'm completely safe. That realization brings a strange serenity to me. 

Of course, today, I have an actual reason to be here. 

I examined the west-facing clamp at the base of the missile and found the culprit: the clamp's padding has worn down, breaking the seal between it and the rocket hull. Without a firm connection, the computer wouldn't allow the explosive release to arm. 

Luckily, Subby had dropped off some spare clamp pads a few months ago. It was as easy as changing a car air filter. 

I plugged my tablet into the missile control system and got four solid connections. Good to launch. 

For the first time, I wondered what would have happened if we'd launched. Amy's crazy idea may have worked, the clamp may have blown. Or, it could have stayed stubbornly in place. As the engine ignited, the rocket would have tipped over and smashed against the concrete of the launch bay. Most likely, the force of that collision would sheer the metal frame connecting the three launch stages. Just before collapsing under its own weight, something would definitely explode. The fuel would go all at once and, unless our luck improved, the warheads might crack. Nuclear weapons can't "accidentally" detonate – the uranium won't reach critical mass without a geometrically perfect implosion. But they still pack more than enough conventional explosives, mixed with the confined, pressurized space of the silo, to incinerate anyone underground.

But we had our orders. That's what Amy had said. 

What if the order had come through? What are the lives of two Missile Men if we are suddenly at war? 

This missile could decimate a North Korean military base, vaporizing planes, tanks, and weapons before they're turned against my brothers in arms.  A single strategically-delivered nuclear weapon could even end a war. That's been proven before, right across the Sea of Japan. 

How do we measure that against a chance – just a chance – of two people dying?

I shouldn't be in this job. 

I think too much for this.

God, I hope they don't talk to Daniel.