Free Fulcrum: V Plague Book 12 by Dirk Patton

himself in was
maddening.  It was only a step above fighting with a blindfold.
    “Captain, find me the moment we get any update on the status
of Falcon,” the Admiral said, turning and stalking out of the CIC.
    “Yes, sir,” the man said, struggling with his own
frustration.
    Falcon flight was four B-2 stealth bombers, escorted by two
squadrons of Navy F-18s.  The bombers each carried a payload of airburst,
chemical dispersion bombs that were loaded with MX-489 nerve agent. 
    Once they reached the Russian fleet, they would drop their
payloads, which would detonate at 1,000 feet over the surface of the
ocean.  An atomized mist of nerve agent would then drift down over the
enemy ships.  Admiral Packard didn’t hold out much hope for the success of
the mission, but he had to use every tool at his disposal.
    There were numerous civilian cargo ships in the fleet,
almost certainly loaded down with ground troops and equipment, but there were also
many warships.  Unless the Americans got incredibly lucky, they’d just seal
all their hatches and ignore the deadly, chemical rain.  Once the last
bomb delivered its contents, all they’d have to do would be to follow standard
decontamination procedures.  The same process for dealing with the
presence of radioactive fallout. 
    Massive pumps would be started, sucking in thousands of
gallons of seawater.  From dozens of strategically placed nozzles all
around the exterior of each ship, high-pressure water would rinse the vessel clean
of the nerve agent.  Packard’s hope was the chemical would have a chance
to reach the interior of the ships before the captains realized what was
happening.  But it was a slim hope.
    Striding beside the manicured lawns of the sprawling naval
base, the Admiral headed for the giant building that housed the equipment and
personnel responsible for the secure communications networks on which the US
Navy relied.  Reaching the entrance to the facility, he, and his six heavily
armed Marine guards, breezed through security without breaking stride.
    Several floors below ground, he barged into a cold, dark
room filled with computer terminals and several dozen sailors sitting
idle.  The first one to spot him shot to his feet and shouted that there
was an Admiral on deck .  The rest of the room immediately fell
silent and leapt to their feet, all except for one person.
    Packard’s eyes zeroed in on Jessica, and he quickly made his
way to where she was bent over a multi-screen terminal.  Several manuals
were open on the work surface, and she was intently peering at one of the
screens.  His senior aide, Captain West, stood as the Admiral approached.
    “Any progress?”  Packard asked quietly.
    Captain West tilted his head in Jessica’s direction.
    “Not yet, sir,” Jessica said without looking away from the
monitor.  “But, I’ve got an idea.”
    “Tell me, Seaman.”
    “Well, sir,” Jessica said slowly as she leaned back and
looked up at Packard.  “I’ve learned a few things.  First off, this
isn’t frequency jamming, like we thought.  The Russians aren’t flooding
the EM spectrum with radio energy to block our comms.  This is much more
sophisticated.”
    “Explain,” the Admiral said, a small bloom of optimism
warming his chest.
    “This is some sort of cyber-attack, sir.  Are you
familiar with the old FLTSAT network?”
    “The satellite network from the 80s?”
    “That’s the one, sir.  It was abandoned because some
Brazilian ham radio operator found a way to break in and use the satellites to
re-broadcast his signal all around the world.  Well, believe it or not, some
of those birds are apparently still up there.  And operational. 
That’s how the Russians got in.”
    “Are you kidding me?”  Packard exploded. 
    Lack of sleep and mounting frustration finally got the best
of him.
    “I wish I was, sir,” Jessica said, not at all perturbed by
his outburst. 
    “Captain,” he said, turning to West.  “We still