Without Warning!

By Rabb Marcellus

It's 1985. The Soviet Union has a new plan. To destroy the United States in one decisive instant, by smuggling 25 nuclear bombs into the country and detonating them simultaneously. Thereby eliminating command and control, and any retaliation by the nuclear forces of the United States. A bold plan by a ruthless Soviet leadership. Still, whatever the means, the world without the United States would be ripe for the expansion of communism and the creation of a new human utopia. Where everyone worked together toward a common goal.
Nuclear bombs were loaded onto submarines and delivered to remote coastal areas of the U.S. to be deployed to critical areas and bases. Jekyll Island Georgia was one of those destinations, and offloading had begun in the middle of the night. There was only one glitch. Susan and Gary Mitchell were having a fight, a lover’s quarrel that caused her to run away onto the beach in the middle of the night. Gary followed, trying to apologize and bring her in out of the rain. They saw the submarine and something being moved to shore. What should they do?
This was my first novel, written in 1985 during the Cold War. Tom Clancy was very popular with “The Hunt for Red October” and was my inspiration. I think my story is still pertinent today, and as a historical novel, represents the apprehension all Americans lived with back then. With the Russian Federation is becoming more hostile these days, and we know their leaders are ruthless. Perhaps it is good to remember the Cold War and what could still happen. Get ready for a thriller. I hope you are entertained and buy my book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rabb Marcellus
• Release date: Jan 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463513262

Rabb Marcellus

Rabb Marcellus has lived in various cities in the South and the West. He has a degree in Electrical Engineering Technology and has worked primarily in the electric power industry for most of his career. He began writing in his capacity as a project coordinator and project engineer, preparing correspondence for interoffice, as well as to clients. An avid reader, a love for the art emerged and he began to explore his capacity for writing and storytelling, completing his first novel, Without Warning, in 1985. The demands of his profession and raising a family hindered his writing until recently. In addition to his novel, Without Warning, he completed The Suns' Own Tomorrow in 2013, Jubal's Gold in 2014, and Prince of Tyrants in 2015. He is currently finishing a new book, The Other Side of Tomorrow, a sequel to The Suns' Own Tomorrow and has already developed ideas for a new novel. His favorite authors are Clive Cussler, Tom Clancy, and Larry Niven and his stories reflect their influence. Rabb tries to tell stories full of suspense that are never predictable. His characters are drawn from a lifetime of experiences, and each novel must be fun for him to write. He doesn't like to confine his imagination to a specific genre. "I like to tell a good story, one that my readers will enjoy," Rabb says, "and that's what gives me a lot of satisfaction." Visit his website rabbmarcellus.com for more information.

Book preview

To all the ‘boomers’ who endured the cold war era.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Other Novels by Rabb

Chapter One

Saturday, September 12, 1987 - Jekyll Island, Georgia

Towering high in the evening sun, the thunderclouds reached across the azure sky filling the western horizon with angry shades of gray. The storm intensified and deepened the night as it drifted over the South Georgia coastline. Dark billows reached down toward the swaying reeds. Fierce wind buffeted the black waters of the Atlantic, tearing away the white crests of the waves and filling the troughs of the heaving ocean with swirling mist.

Ascending from the waters was a shape foreign to this place. A black steel shape, resolutely rising, betraying the presence below.

The massive bulk of the Soviet submarine, Samoylov, pushed through the shallow seas. Her captain peered through the eyepiece of the periscope searching the Georgia coastline for any sign of life in the storm. Far to the north, perched high above the beach, a single streetlight cast an orange glow on the sand dunes surrounding it.

He twisted the handle increasing magnification and the light loomed large in the sights. Damn! he muttered under his breath, Damn! His mind rapidly retraced the string of objections he’d radioed to Moscow concerning this site.

Suddenly he stepped back and boomed Down scope. He grasped his braided cap by its bill and pulled it forward over his brow. Sad eyes searched the red lit deck as if an answer lay there, awaiting discovery. The resort is only a kilometer to the north! He slowly shook his head, There must be a mistake!

We’ve confirmed the site, sir, a headset framed the boyish face of his first officer. What else can we do? The political officer insists that we deploy tonight!

The captain sighed and placed his hands on his hips, Surface, comrade, let’s get this over with!

The first officer repeated the order and the ship came alive as ballast tanks filled with air and diving planes elevated. The Samoylov thrust her bow through the waves and into the pelting rain, her massive silhouette revealed only by the distant lightning. Saltwater cascaded down her superstructure, foaming and boiling around her narrow decks as she rose from the sea.

The conning tower hatch popped open with a gasp and a figure wearing a black hooded rain suit pushed hard to raise the heavy cover. He stepped onto the puddled deck of the forward observation platform and two other men followed on his heels. He climbed to his post on the periscope mount while the captain and first officer strode to the forward railing.

The captain turned his gaze forward, watching the bow glide through the dark swells. There, lashed to the deck, was the purpose of his mission into United States waters. A small machine composed of three black cylinders held together by a steel framework and resting on four sets of rubber tracks, its presence foreign to the sleek low contours of the Samoylov.

A fresh surge of wind whipped the surf across the ship obscuring the deck, the rain pattered against the captain’s hooded slicker. He turned away listening to the raindrops, feeling the pressure of the wind and the ship moving beneath his feet. A symphony of the sea surrounded him, filling his senses with a crescendo all its own, leading his thoughts across the vast, timeless expanse of the Atlantic.

Hell of a night, sir! The first officer’s Russian barely audible. Sir?

Yes, comrade, I was just thinking the same thing myself. His eyes met those of the first officer. I want sonar and radar reports every five minutes. Order an infra-red scan of the landing site. I want to know when our contacts arrive.

His back to the rain, the first officer repeated the orders into his headset.

The storm waxed above them, fed by the warm waters of the Gulf Stream. Lightning arched across the sky, setting the Samoylov in shades of blue. Ship and sea, frozen in a single strobe of light as though time stood still. The captain hunched instinctively then straightened to receive the crack and roll of thunder, its intensity felt as much as heard.

We have infra-red scan, sir, yelled the first officer above the roar. Two people and another bright image, probably an engine.

Why don’t our agents make contact? What time is it?

It’s 0250 hours, sir.

We’re, right on time, what’s keeping them? The captain squinted as he scanned the coast. Sea and shore blended into a black mass in the night. Only a tiny speck of orange light marked their boundary.

We have radio contact, sir. Confirmation codes agree.

Good! Order the shore-party on deck.

Yes, sir.

The forward deck hatch popped open. Four men dressed in black wetsuits and flippers waddled across the steel walkway. The hatch clanked shut behind them as they gathered around the machine. Then, two of the divers began to remove the lashings that secured it to the deck while the remaining two inflated a small rubber raft and placed their rifles in the bottom. With the raft held between them, they crept cautiously across the rounded ballast tank, slipped into the sea, and swam to shore.

The captain knew the procedure and in his mind’s eye, he saw his men crouching in the surf, and then crossing the narrow strip of beach to disappear into the palmetto. The description of the landing site told of the low dunes covered with scrub oaks and dense underbrush, the black-top road that paralleled the beach, and the KGB agents waiting there.

Captain, the shore party is ready. Deck crew reports propulsion system energized. They’re standing by.

Notify the shore party that we’re beginning deployment. Flood the decks, comrade. The captain watched as the divers below assumed their positions on each side of the machine. The ship shuddered and began to ease deeper into the sea. White-capped swells broke across the bow and swirled around the machine. The men held fast, fighting the driving current.

The machine obtained buoyancy just below the surface and the divers switched on its motors sending the ribbed tracks spinning. Guided by the divers, it turned toward the shore, soon to be engulfed by the wind swept swells and darkness.

The captain watched the spot where the machine submerged. Bring the ship back to the surface.

Yes, sir. Captain, we have a distant contact, slow moving. Operator suspects it to be an outboard motor by its sound.

How far away? groaned the Captain.

Ten miles, maybe more.

The captain nodded recognition, Tell him to stay alert. Keep me informed of the contact’s movements. He looked toward the first officer, I want this operation to be perfect. Our illustrious political officer won’t put a blemish on the Samoylov and her crew. He returned to face open sea, Not if I can help it!

The ship listed as her decks pushed up through the swells, sending white torrents down her sides. She stood high and alone on the sea. The captain looked toward shore, again imagining the scene unfolding there, the machine gripping the sand under the surf then pulling itself up and across the beach.

Captain! We have new infra-red contacts, sir! Two people, I think, and they’re running down the beach toward the landing site!

Damn! The captain slammed his palm against the wet railing. Damn! He looked down and shook his head, How close are they?

Close enough, sir.

He hesitated, mouth drooping, Contact the shore party and apprise them of the situation. Order the men to apprehend our visitors and cut their throats. Take whatever valuables they may have and hide their remains in the brush.

Yes, sir.

~~~

Susan, I’m sorry! Gary Mitchell raced across the wet sand in pursuit of his wife. Susan, please! Damn her temper, he thought as a bright streak of lightning branched across the sky. Gary saw Susan’s white shorts with long, shapely legs running across the narrow ribbon of beach.

She had a considerable lead and he quickened his stride. His toes dug into the sand, sending it flying.

Just leave me alone, Gary Mitchell! she sobbed. Thunder crashed and rumbled around her. She slowed to a trot, chin up, breathing hard. Suddenly she stopped, spun around and planted her feet in the sand. Just go away and leave me alone!

Gary slowed to a walk, stopping just out of range, Please, Susan, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded! I was just...

Sure you did! Her tears mixed with the rain on her face. Just because I’m female doesn’t mean I’m always hormonal! She leaned forward, I’m tired of your patronizing jokes about chill pills and your condescending attitude!

Susan, it’s three o’clock in the morning. We’re getting drenched! Why can’t we talk this out back in the room?

I know what time it is, damn it! I know it’s raining! Just go away, go home, and go to hell for all I care! She turned away, sprinting across the wet sand, leaving Gary with a mouthful of words.

Susan! he yelled angrily as a blaze of lightning revealed the beach. Susan, stop!! His voice had a new urgency, causing her to look back as she ran. Gary was running like a madman. He made a flying tackle catching her around the ankles. She collided violently with the sandy beach. He planted a gritty hand on her mouth.

She wrestled free, Damn it, let me go!

Will you shut up! He fought to catch her wrists, trying to avoid jabbing fists, knees and toes. Susan, listen! There’s something out there. Be quiet! he whispered in her ear, Look, there are men on the beach. She quit struggling and Gary allowed her to roll over for a clear view.

Wait for the lightning, he whispered. "About seventy-five yards away. Rain pelted their backs and began to collect in the depressions made by their knees and elbows.

Another flash and she could see the men on the beach attending to a crawling machine.

Don’t move! Gary whispered, There’s a submarine way out there!

The men and the machine moved across the beach as they watched. Each flash of lightning revealed another detail of the mysterious landing.

What are they doing? she asked.

How should I know? Drug smugglers or something. Who else would be crazy enough to get out in this?

Susan glared at him, Look, you started this...

Shhh! It’s probably just the Navy on maneuvers or something. Gary looked back out to sea. Another flash and the Samoylov was set again in perfect silhouette, her shape unlike any American submarine. Oh shit! Susan, it’s…oh, God…I bet they know we’re here!

What…how would they know and…why would they care?

We’ve got to get away now! He dragged her to her feet and they started back up the beach. Don’t you see? They know we’ve seen them, they’ll have to kill us!

Kill us…what…Gary!

Gary turned abruptly and rushed into the bushes. Wet, stiff branches clawed at their skin. He tripped and they tumbled into broad palmetto stalks. Lightning cast more blue light across the dunes in numerous flashes, followed by deafening jolts of thunder.

The limbs scratched Susan’s arms and legs. The rain had soaked her to the skin and the thin terrycloth top stuck to her ample breasts. Gary climbed to his feet again and plunged into the brush. He gripped her hand, pulling her off balance as he rushed through high palmetto, desperately looking for a path.

The dense growth and loose sand reduced their progress to a crawl. He stopped, listening for the sound of pursuit, but there was only the crack of thunder and the hiss of pouring rain. Wiping his face, he tried to see ahead through the dark. He pushed a limb aside and pulled Susan behind him once again.

They began to descend a steep bank. Gary lifted his feet high to clear a bush, but his toe caught throwing him forward. He closed his eyes, and thrust a hand out to break the fall. Palms and knees hit hard on the gravel. Susan landed beside him. She rolled onto her back, chest heaving, eyes closed.

It’s okay, we’re on the main road now, he said.

Susan opened her eyes and rolled to her side. Gary? she touched his arm, There’s a large truck parked on the side of the road. She pointed ahead.

He followed her gesture and waited for the next flash of lightning. They waited several seconds, and then the storm revealed a long-nosed tractor-trailer parked on the shoulder of the road. A wide sandy path led from the beach, and crawling slowly across it was the machine. Two men attended the strange device and two others walked nearby, rifles leveled, held at the ready. There was movement near the rear of the trailer, and the lightning lasted long enough to glimpse a rear door standing open.

There they are again! she gasped quietly.

Gary got to his feet, Let’s get out of here, he whispered and helped her up, Come on, the motel must be back that way.

~~~

Captain, scanner shows those two people moving toward the resort. Shall I instruct the shore party to intercept them?

Where’s that contact?

Last reported two miles and closing slowly, sir.

The captain cleared his throat, hesitating. We can’t risk it. Order the shore party back to the ship, and the retrieval team on deck. Contact Moscow and tell them the last warhead has been deployed. Advise that the operation was observed and give them the details. He paused, Let the KGB handle it. Our job is done.

The last man was plucked from the sea. The captain stood by as the men retreated into the ship and closed the deck hatch. With his first officer and lookout below, he ordered the Samoylov to dive then made his way below.

Her bow dipped below the angry swells, sliding effortlessly beneath the surface, grateful for her watery sanctuary, hiding in the invisible depths. Only the salty foam and swirling eddies gave evidence of her passage.

Halfway around the globe, two Russian leaders relentlessly followed a dream, taking the next step to eliminate the only obstacle to world domination…the United States!

Chapter Two

Moscow, U.S.S.R

Marx Prospekt wore its autumn face. A chilling wind raced down the corridor between the gothic brownstone buildings. Birch trees shed their leaves in a slow rain of orange and red along each side of the broad avenue.

Alexander Tagaskov waited with hands thrust deep into the pockets of his long wool coat. His face was void of expression except for deep brooding eyes that angled down from a sharp nose. He wore a modest moustache, neatly trimmed in contrast with thick brown hair that crept below his ears and flew in all directions. He took a step forward, and turned slowly as he watched the black ZIL limousine round the corner and ease to a stop before him. Alex walked to the curb and caught the door as it opened. Good morning, Victor. He stooped to greet the head of the KGB, Viktor Chebrikov.

We will be early, perhaps a drive around the city. We can talk. Chebrikov’s words echoed hollowly from the enclosed compartment. Looking up, he noticed Alex’s ashen complexion, How is Anna?

If we have extra time, Viktor, could we walk? I really love Moscow in the autumn.

Chebrikov leaned forward to step out of the car. His heavy coattail brushed the floorboard as he grasped the open door with gloved hands and pulled himself up. He was a full head taller than Alex, with eyes deeply set beneath black, furrowed brows. A strong pockmarked chin held lines carved around his thin mouth. He slammed the door, and then motioned for the occupants of a second car to follow. Four men stepped from the vehicle and trotted to positions ahead and behind their leader.

I think we’re ready now. He smiled at Alex and the two men began their walk to the Kremlin gate with the limousine following. I should do this more often. You know how it is, Alex, we’re so busy these days we sometimes forget to slow down and enjoy what we’re trying to preserve. He took a deep breath and exhaled, forming a brief cloud in the cold breeze. You didn’t answer my question, how is she?

Better, Viktor, but they’re running more tests. We should know something in a few days. He looked down as he spoke, seeing his beloved wife’s face instead of the gray sidewalk.

Try not to worry, my friend. She’s receiving the best care our country can provide. They can work miracles these days.

Alex wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and took a slow breath. The air is so cold and refreshing. He quickened his step.

In the distance, the red granite walls of Lenin’s tomb were clearly visible. Beyond, the twisted onion domes of St. Basil’s cathedral and the high ancient walls of the Kremlin formed the boundary on the right side of Red Square.

A young woman approached them, hand shielding her nose from the bite of the frigid wind. Her eyes met their eyes briefly, then returned to the sidewalk as she hurried on by.

We needed this chance to talk privately, Alex. As a newly elected member of the Politburo, there are certain matters that are, shall we say, important to your benefactor and myself.

Alex glanced at the older man, searching his profile as they walked. I understand the debt I owe to our General Secretary. He can rely on my support.

You’re one of several Politburo members who were groomed by Comrade Romanov, Alex.

Yes, Viktor, I do realize that and I appreciate his confidence. Again, you can assure him of my absolute loyalty.

There are those who say that this general secretary is the most powerful leader since Joseph Stalin. Perhaps an overstatement, but much of his success is attributed to his hand-picked supporters within the Politburo.

And his friends within the KGB, Alex quipped, smiling briefly.

This is true. Mikhail and I’ve worked together for many years. We share a common dream.

Alex observed the visitors outside Lenin’s tomb, a slow moving line of pilgrims that stretched around to Alexander Garden. Now in Red Square, he looked across the broad expanse to the high-rise buildings of Kalinin Prospekt and Lenin Hills. A round faced, old woman with gold teeth grinned at him as he strode passed. What dream is that?

You’ll find out today, that’s the purpose of the meeting. Look around you, Alex. Here is our heritage. A reminder of our history in every cobblestone and brick. There, he pointed to a stone platform. The Lobnoye Metso where tsars made proclamations and executed their enemies. He motioned around, Red Square itself which saw the slaughter of the aristocrats by Ivan the Terrible and Peter the Great. Surely, Alex, the center of the world?

The center of most of it.

Then, perhaps you’ve touched on the dream. Chebrikov stopped and held up his hand motioning to the car. Come, we should ride from here. I can assure Mikhail of your full support then, Alex?

Of course.

The ZIL stopped nearby and a burley agent trotted up from behind to open the door for them.

Good. I’ll inform him before the meeting begins.

~~~

The briefing room was deep within the Kremlin complex. It resembled a small theatre complete with sloping floor, seats and stage, and used exclusively by the Politburo. The most secret plans were revealed here and the area was constantly swept for listening devices.

Viktor accompanied Alex to his place near the last row. On the low platform, seated behind a plain steel desk, was the General Secretary. He was concentrating intently on the folder before him and seemed not to notice the murmur of the other members. Chebrikov ascended the steps and touched his shoulder, whispering into his ear.

Romanov looked around the room, his round face stern, his bearing intense. Comrades, if you’ll be seated we will get started. He stood and approached the edge of the platform, looking down on the small audience. This will be the first of a series of meetings to keep you informed of a bold plan that’s being implemented even as I speak.

He paused, surveying the faces before him. Many of you are new members of our select group. Four are wise veterans. Before I begin, I request that you hold your questions and comments until the end.

He turned and walked to a large map of the United States. Here, comrades, is the problem and subject of this briefing. Lenin’s dream, his edict of world communism hasn’t been realized chiefly because of the United States. Have you considered what mankind could do if we all worked together in a world communist state? Well, I have and for years Lenin’s dream has been mine, and Viktor Chebrikov’s, he motioned to the KGB chief.

About six months ago, we came to realize an opportunity to eliminate the United States as a force in world politics, he smiled menacingly. "Without the presence of the United States, world communism could exist. Without them, the Earth’s natural resources would be ours, along with her labor. Without them, the Soviet people would realize a standard of living never before seen, and the ideal of communism would propel mankind