”
Things happened fast.
All of Diego Garcia’s military assets were on the left arm of the atoll’s V. In rapid succession there blossomed six prolonged blinding flashes.
“Yes,” ter Horst exclaimed. “Some got through!”
Crewmen cheered.
“Quiet in control!” he snapped.
Van Gelder stared at his screen, transfixed.
As the glare died down, shock waves spread from four points on the atoll’s arm and two in the lagoon. Van Gelder saw gigantic domes of mist, where the moist tropical air condensed behind the spreading shock fronts. The mist domes quickly dissipated, and there they were, the atomic fireballs, six of them glowing and churning, ascending into the sky. Each was a breathtaking golden yellow, expanding as it rose: living, fulminating globes of unimaginable fire.
Pillars formed beneath the fireballs, black for the ones that hit land, white for the ones that hit water. The fireballs provided their own illumination for the nighttime scene around them; each cast livid shadows of the other mushroom clouds. At ground level, smoke and dust and fog-spray spread in fluffy, lethal disks. The shock waves of the different warheads met, rupturing the air.
Still the fireballs rose, and expanded, and cooled slightly. They sucked in more air at their bases. The pillars of the mushroom clouds grew thick, and lightning sizzled. Nothing on the ground could be seen through all the smoke and dust and steam and flying debris, no ships or planes or people. The water of the lagoon, farther off, foamed where it was punished by the shock fronts, and huge waves spread away from the two water bursts. Tall trees on the far side of the lagoon exploded into flame from the searing radiant heat of the blasts. The entire atoll seemed to burn.
Now the fireballs were more than two miles high. They broiled less fiercely. Smoke rings formed atop their crowns. They were interlaced with ethereal purple glows, the air itself fluorescing from the intense radiation. More lightning flashed from the tremendous static charges.
Ter Horst switched to the infrared feed. On Van Gelder’s screen, in this mode, the fireballs still seared frighteningly. But infrared could see through smoke and dust. At ground level, fires burned everywhere. The petroleum-products tank farm was now one huge inferno, and the inferno spread. More flaming fuel oil covered the surface of the lagoon, and in the lagoon, ships burned and broke apart. The four deep craters on the ground all glowed intensely hot; not one but two missiles had hit the runways of the airbase.
Van Gelder was awestruck in spite of himself. I helped do this. Some primitive part of his being rejoiced at the combat success. An unspeakable part of his soul soared with exhilarated joy at the sheer pleasure of such push-button mass destruction. In a sick way it was fun to unleash fission bombs, see mushroom clouds erect themselves, smash someone else’s toys and get to watch.
Am I becoming a monster, like my captain?
“Atoll denial, Gunther,” ter Horst said.
“Sir?”
“That’s what this is about. Atoll denial.”
Van Gelder nodded. He grasped ter Horst’s point. The cruise missiles all had plunging warheads, designed to borein deep and throw up terrible local fallout—soil, vaporized wreckage, and radioactive seawater steam. From these appallingly dirty blasts, Diego Garcia would be unusable for many months, maybe years. The image jumped, then steadied, as each shock front finally reached the unmanned recon drone, the force too weak by now to knock it down.
“They think an island is an unsinkable aircraft carrier,” ter Horst said.
“I’ve heard the saying, Captain.” Ter Horst distracted Van Gelder, who was trying to make better sense of what he’d seen, and how he felt about it. I’ve helped kill thousands of people.
But it’s legal, they were military targets. This is war, and I’m doing my job.
“They need to think again,” ter Horst said. “An island is just a
Things happened fast.
All of Diego Garcia’s military assets were on the left arm of the atoll’s V. In rapid succession there blossomed six prolonged blinding flashes.
“Yes,” ter Horst exclaimed. “Some got through!”
Crewmen cheered.
“Quiet in control!” he snapped.
Van Gelder stared at his screen, transfixed.
As the glare died down, shock waves spread from four points on the atoll’s arm and two in the lagoon. Van Gelder saw gigantic domes of mist, where the moist tropical air condensed behind the spreading shock fronts. The mist domes quickly dissipated, and there they were, the atomic fireballs, six of them glowing and churning, ascending into the sky. Each was a breathtaking golden yellow, expanding as it rose: living, fulminating globes of unimaginable fire.
Pillars formed beneath the fireballs, black for the ones that hit land, white for the ones that hit water. The fireballs provided their own illumination for the nighttime scene around them; each cast livid shadows of the other mushroom clouds. At ground level, smoke and dust and fog-spray spread in fluffy, lethal disks. The shock waves of the different warheads met, rupturing the air.
Still the fireballs rose, and expanded, and cooled slightly. They sucked in more air at their bases. The pillars of the mushroom clouds grew thick, and lightning sizzled. Nothing on the ground could be seen through all the smoke and dust and steam and flying debris, no ships or planes or people. The water of the lagoon, farther off, foamed where it was punished by the shock fronts, and huge waves spread away from the two water bursts. Tall trees on the far side of the lagoon exploded into flame from the searing radiant heat of the blasts. The entire atoll seemed to burn.
Now the fireballs were more than two miles high. They broiled less fiercely. Smoke rings formed atop their crowns. They were interlaced with ethereal purple glows, the air itself fluorescing from the intense radiation. More lightning flashed from the tremendous static charges.
Ter Horst switched to the infrared feed. On Van Gelder’s screen, in this mode, the fireballs still seared frighteningly. But infrared could see through smoke and dust. At ground level, fires burned everywhere. The petroleum-products tank farm was now one huge inferno, and the inferno spread. More flaming fuel oil covered the surface of the lagoon, and in the lagoon, ships burned and broke apart. The four deep craters on the ground all glowed intensely hot; not one but two missiles had hit the runways of the airbase.
Van Gelder was awestruck in spite of himself. I helped do this. Some primitive part of his being rejoiced at the combat success. An unspeakable part of his soul soared with exhilarated joy at the sheer pleasure of such push-button mass destruction. In a sick way it was fun to unleash fission bombs, see mushroom clouds erect themselves, smash someone else’s toys and get to watch.
Am I becoming a monster, like my captain?
“Atoll denial, Gunther,” ter Horst said.
“Sir?”
“That’s what this is about. Atoll denial.”
Van Gelder nodded. He grasped ter Horst’s point. The cruise missiles all had plunging warheads, designed to borein deep and throw up terrible local fallout—soil, vaporized wreckage, and radioactive seawater steam. From these appallingly dirty blasts, Diego Garcia would be unusable for many months, maybe years. The image jumped, then steadied, as each shock front finally reached the unmanned recon drone, the force too weak by now to knock it down.
“They think an island is an unsinkable aircraft carrier,” ter Horst said.
“I’ve heard the saying, Captain.” Ter Horst distracted Van Gelder, who was trying to make better sense of what he’d seen, and how he felt about it. I’ve helped kill thousands of people.
But it’s legal, they were military targets. This is war, and I’m doing my job.
“They need to think again,” ter Horst said. “An island is just a
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