In 1976, sitting off the coast of Vladivostok, the red faced, red headed 21 year old sat at the fire control technician’s station with his hand on the end of the world and revenge in his heart. The central military port for the Russian navy in the Pacific, Vladivostok, had a population of over five hundred thousand civilians. It didn’t seem that targeting missiles, each with multiple nuclear warheads, on civilians was moral dilemma for the top brass. Particularly so given the three not targeted at the Russians. Drills are common on a nuclear fast attack sub. Drill, drill, drill was the motto, most likely so that, when the time came to end the world, those aboard would treat it like little more than another drill.
The first part of the drill came down: target the red’s city. All but three of the nuclear weapons targeted the sea port, barracks and church. The Godless communists used the church as a communication center, knowing that the articles of war forbid the destruction of religious buildings. The missiles were set for air-burst, five hundred feet off the ground, the height that would maximize the damage and minimize the fall out.
The second part of the drill came down: flood the tubes. This was not a common occurrence in a nuclear launch drill, but all the same orders were followed. The launch tubes were flooded, all but three of the missiles targeted and ready for use, “just in case those red sons of bitches ever hit us”. These were intended to be ship-to-ship weapons, small bombs, only ten times the strength of that dropped on Hiroshima and not designed for use on civilian populations.
The third order came down, “red day seven”. The chief of the boat read aloud, this was not a drill. The captain of the boat and first officer retrieved their launch keys. “red day seven”, the chief read the second confirmation, the officers put their keys into the launch panel and turned them. “red day seven” the final confirmation code was read out loud, in disbelief the officers re-read the code themselves. On their order my dad opened the launch tubes and brought the knife switch to half way.
As the ginger man sat there, he wondered if he was truly going to do this. Was he going to be the man to move his hand seven inches to the left and end the world? He was an incredibly smart man, only the brightest can make it through nuclear training school and only the best of those are given the job of fire control technician. He reasoned in himself that we would never launch first. If we were launching then it was only because they had tested the will of the US to respond. “Those sons of bitches had already killed our women and children”. He was ready; he was going to do this. His hand sweaty, he held tight on the lever arm, ready for the final command.
“fire”, he thought in his mind, and the fire of hell itself would be brought to these Godless red bastards. Just then, the order came down, “abort, abort, abort”, three hands were on the launch switch in an instant and slowly the leaver was put back into pre-launch position.
Felt so bad we couldn't protect our pet from a horrible death.
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