Seven Seconds to Midnight

By Ted Hovey

During the Cuban Missile Crisis in October 1962, a small nuclear weapon has been stolen in Munich by the KGB. Mistakes are made by both the KGB and the CIA. The Americans must act quickly if the United States is to maintain its nuclear advantage over the Soviet Union

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Prairie Publishing
• Release date: Apr 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9781735060422

Ted Hovey

Ted Hovey earned his MFA at Hamline University. He served with the U.S. Army in Munich, Germany, from 1960 to 1962 - the period of the Berlin Wall Crisis and the Cuban Missile Crisis. After the Army, Hovey worked as a CPA.

Book preview

1

MUNICH, SUNDAY, OCTOBER 14, 1962 TWO FORTY-FIVE IN THE MORNING

His mission was simple: steal a nuclear weapon from the Americans. How to do it had been put in his hands. The Panther was confident he would be successful if everything worked according to his plan.

The truck turned right onto Kollwitzstrasse, about a quarter mile from the front gate of the Kaserne. The Panther went over the plan again in his mind. He had stolen the truck, a U.S. Army three quarter ton model with a canvas top over the back. At an operative’s garage, the Panther had the bumper numbers and the license plates changed.

The American soldier driving the truck was recruited by the Panther in one of the GI bars on Goethestrasse in downtown Munich. The Panther’s KGB training had not only prepared him well in the English language, but also gave him skills in detecting character flaws in young Americans. When he recognized that the only moral base Sergeant Chuck Hanson had was the dollar sign, he knew he had his man. Panther bought Sergeant Hanson’s cooperation with one thousand U.S. dollars. He probably would have accepted less, but the Panther thought it was worth it, considering the importance of the mission.

Karl Niedermeier and Andreas Huber rode in the back of the truck with the weapons. They were loyal German communists who were World War Two veterans and skilled in the use of small arms. They were also focused when in dangerous situations.

It was 0230 when they arrived at Henry Kaserne. Right on schedule, thought Panther.

At the main gate entrance to the Kaserne, Chuck Hanson slowed the truck and then stopped. The guard, carrying a clipboard, came out of the guard shack.

I don’t see this vehicle on the list, the guard said.

Yeah, there were so many vehicles backed up this morning waiting to leave that the guard just waved us through. He must not have written it down, Hanson said.

You’re probably right, the guard said.

The gate guard looked past Sergeant Hanson and saw the Panther leaning against the door with his head up and his mouth open.

Is he okay?

Oh yeah. He got pretty drunk in Nürnberg and has been sleeping it off ever since, Hanson said.

Okay — you’re good to go, the guard said as he waved them in.

As they drove into the Kaserne, Panther looked at Hanson.

Good work.

Sergeant Charles Hanson smiled.

Hanson drove the truck to the barracks for D for Delta company of the third battalion of the thirty-fourth armor.

Park here. Smoke a cigarette. If anyone asks you what you’re doing, just say you’re thinking about a letter you got from a girl back home.

Hanson nodded.

Panther, Karl and Andreas put masks on and approached the building with their weapons. Inside, they made their way to the basement and found the door to the room where the nuclear warheads for the U.S. Army’s Davy Crockett missile were stored. Hanson’s information had better be correct, said Panther to himself.

He knocked three times on the door.

Who is it? said a voice from inside.

Captain phumgphaghiey, mumbled the Panther.

There was a rattle as a chain was removed and the door unlocked.

The three men rushed inside and quickly disarmed the two men guarding the nuclear weapons.

The Panther guarded the two Americans while Karl and Andreas prepared to move one of the warheads to the truck. The missiles were stored in small barrel-like containers.

Our officer will be here any minute to check on us. He’ll sound the alarm and you’ll be caught. You’ll never get away with this, said the American sergeant.

Panther hit him on the side of the head with his pistol. The man fell off his chair and lay on the floor moaning.

Shut up, or you’ll get more of the same, Panther said.

Panther looked at Karl and Andreas. Karl indicated that they were ready to leave when the door opened and a young American lieutenant entered. He took a step backward, gasped, and stammered incoherently.

Panther grabbed the lieutenant by his field jacket and looked up and down the hallway as he pulled the man into the room. Then he took the lieutenant’s pistol, ejected the clip, and threw it in a pile with the other men’s weapons.

Out of the musette bag he carried, the Panther took handcuffs, rope, and rags soaked with chloroform. With the help of Karl and Andreas, Panther put the handcuffs on the Americans — hands behind their backs — then tied their feet together with rope and stuffed the rags in their mouths. They were soon unconscious.

Back in the truck, Panther told Hanson they were ready to go. The plan was for the truck to barrel through the front gate because there was little chance that they could convince the guard that they had any legitimate reason to leave the Kaserne soon after entering. Hanson said not to worry. He assured Panther that he could fast talk the guard. Before Panther could object to this change in the plan, Hanson had stopped the truck.

You again. What’s up? What’s going on? said the guard.

I forgot something, Hanson said.

You forgot something? What did you forget? Where?

Ah, let’s see … oh yeah, I forgot …

You wait right here, pal. I’m going to check this out with the sergeant of the guard.

The guard turned and walked toward the building just inside the front gate.

Hanson released the clutch, stepped on the gas pedal, and drove through the open front gate.

Wait, yelled the guard, as the truck lurched forward.

They went the short distance along Kollwitzstrasse and turned right onto Ingolstädter Strasse. A short time later, Hanson stopped and got out of the truck. He had told Panther earlier that he could walk back and enter Henry Kaserne through a hole in the fence that was hidden by bushes.

As the Panther drove north, there were fewer and fewer buildings — and some of those were still in need of repair from the damage caused during allied bombing raids in World War Two.

Panther’s mouth was dry, and the muscles in his legs felt weak, like they were made of jelly, or rubber. He wanted to yell out — to celebrate their success. He knew they had been lucky. His assumptions about the incompetence and carelessness of American soldiers had turned out to be right. He knew also that there was still a lot to do before the Davy Crockett nuclear mini weapon reached the Soviet scientists in Moscow. He had done his part, though, and he felt good about that. As a Russian, he was not one to show his emotions — to anyone. He had feelings, of course — everyone does, Panther thought. He was trained from childhood not to show them — to keep them to himself.

The Panther stopped the small truck in an abandoned gravel pit north of Munich. A car had been parked there earlier — it was all part of the plan. The missile container was placed in the trunk of the car.

The three men then pushed the U.S. Army truck into the pond at the bottom of the gravel pit. They watched as it soon disappeared under the water.

They took the missile to Karl’s house on the northern outskirts of Munich and hid it under a tarp in a corner of Karl’s workshop.

* * * *

The three men sat at a table in Karl’s kitchen, drinking Schnapps and reliving the events of the night.

Karl, eyes wide and glowing, thrust his fist in the air.

Did you see the look on that lieutenant’s face? He must have shit his pants! Why don’t the Ami’s get some real men to be their officers? He looked like he was about fourteen years old, Karl said.

Karl and Andreas laughed as they shook their heads and closed their eyes.

Prosit, said Andreas as he raised his glass in the air.

Prosit, said Karl and the Panther as they touched glasses and then drank.

That’s the end of that bottle. Too bad, Karl said.

No problem, Panther said.

He brought forth from a bag a bottle of vodka and filled the glasses.

To the revolution, Panther said.

To the revolution, the men repeated.

And the sergeant, speaking nonsense …, Andreas said as he pressed his palms to his eyes.

Karl roared his agreement.

The Panther refilled their glasses. He was grateful to have such experienced men to help him on this mission. They had done their part while in Italy with the Wehrmacht, and now they were doing their part to bring the kingdom of socialism to reality in Germ any.

Later, about 0400, both Karl and Andreas were asleep — Karl in his bedroom with his wife, and Andreas on the sofa. The Panther sat at the kitchen table and thought.

He was a deep thinker. That meant he was a planner. The plan for the theft of the missile was almost perfect. And the plan had worked. The only flaw that the Panther could see was Sergeant Hanson. Yes, Hanson was necessary. He knew where the Davy Crockett’s were stored. He had gotten them inside the Kaserne with no alarm being sounded. But the guard at the front gate saw Hanson and could describe him. It was unfortunate, but unavoidable, that Hanson was stationed with one of the units on Henry Kaserne. The Panther wanted someone from another Kaserne, but Charles Hanson was so perfect in so many ways. It was Hanson who scouted out where the nuclear warheads for the Davy Crockett missile were stored. He knew where the barracks building of D for Delta company of the 3rd battalion of the 34th Armor was inside the Kaserne. As a non-commissioned officer he was not strictly held to bed check restrictions. No, he had to have Sergeant Hanson in on the mission.

The question now, in Panther’s mind, was whether Hanson could or would identify the man who paid him $1,000 to do the job? The answer was yes, he told himself.

Hanson probably could describe the Panther, but that wasn’t what concerned the KGB agent most. Chuck Hanson could tell the Americans everything the Panther had said, his dress, and his mannerisms. If the Americans were smart, and Panther guessed that there were some smart Americans, they would use that information to build a profile of him. Then they could devise a plan to find him, and if they found him — they would find the missing missile. All of that depended, of course, on how smart the Americans were.

Maybe I should have killed Sergeant Hanson, Panther said under his breath. Maybe I should kill Karl and Andreas. They are communists, yes — but they are Germans. Also, they know too much.

The Panther also thought about his own people — the KGB. What was their plan to get the bomb out of Munich and into the Soviet Union? If it were him, he would already have driven the weapon into neutral Austria before the alarm had been sounded in Munich. Then he would have driven on to Hungary and the safety of a Communist country friendly to the U.S.S.R. There, the KGB could control things from then on to Moscow.

The Panther looked at his watch, he preferred the Swiss brand — Longines, another thing the Soviets couldn’t compete with. It was almost 0500, and the sky was still dark. Yes, he would be in Austria now, if it were up to him.

His orders were to wait for further instructions from his superiors. Since he had joined the KGB almost ten years earlier, he had developed some strong opinions about his leaders and the bureaucracy they lived with. He characterized most of the men he worked for as mediocre. Their lack of competence showed in bureaucratic infighting, loyalty to their leaders, but they showed their incompetence by their operational indecisiveness.

Panther hoped that it would be different this time — the development of socialism was at stake. Of course, it all depended on how smart the Soviet leaders were.

He settled back in his chair. He had done it. He — Vasily Sergeyevich Petrov — had done it. He had stolen a nuclear missile from right under the American’s nose. Warmth spread through his body.

Who else in the KGB could have done what he had just accomplished? No one that he knew. He would surely get a medal for this feat — he would be a Hero of the Soviet Union.

A tiredness that was fulfilling rather than exhausting took over his body.

2

LOVETTSVILLE, SUNDAY, OCTOBER 14, 1962 SEVEN FIFTEEN IN THE EVENING

Your soccer team is doing well, Pat — how many games are left?" Russ Gallagher asked his son.

Three more, and then the district tournament. If we do well there, we go to the regionals in Charlottesville.

Are you planning to try out for baseball next spring?

Sure, they need left-handed pitchers.

Russ thought about that. He could have retired a couple months ago, in August. He decided to stay on until Patrick graduated next June, when he wanted to take Pat on a trip around the world. Pan American Airways offered such a trip. Russ had planned to retire on May 31st and then start the trip on June 15th, after Patrick’s graduation from Loudoun County High School. Surely, all the baseball tournaments will be over by then? Russ thought. There shouldn’t be a problem at all … unless. No, the starting date was safe.

Russ had a plan. He would retire after twenty years in the CIA, take his son back to India — to Calcutta and Kohima, where he had died and was reborn during the war. After the trip he was going to settle down and be a gentleman farmer. He was looking forward to it. He had reached an agreement with Al Enderlee, a neighbor, for the purchase of forty acres of crop and woodland that was next to the twenty acres of the Gallagher farm. He felt good about the prospects of being a full-time farmer. Al had already taught Russ much about crops and animals.

Dad — don’t worry. I think we’ll have a good team, but we’re not that good. It’s not like, you know, we’re going to be State baseball champs.

You could be.

No way, Dad. I appreciate your confidence in us but be real. Just look at who we have to play — just to win the regionals.

They were lingering at the table after dinner. Rosemary, Russell’s wife, refilled his coffee cup.

Pat, can we talk about your graduation party? I need to know how many you would like us to invite before I decide what and how much to have, Rosemary said.

Oh, Mom, that’s so far in the future — I don’t know. I haven’t even thought about it.

I’ll give Carol’s mom a call — when the time comes. They must have talked about their own ideas, and then we can make our plans, which should be similar.

The plan for the Pan Am trip was going through Russ’s head. At times he felt a pang of guilt — was he going on this trip for his own benefit, or for Patrick’s? After all, they would spend the most time in India, which had so many memories for Russ.

Tell me about the trip, Dad, Patrick asked.

Ah, thought Russ, my son has already developed a sense of empathy. He seemed to know that his dad liked to talk about and dream about this trip.

Well, we start in London, then we go to Paris, Rome, and so on and so forth.

No, Russ thought, the trip was for Patrick. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that his son would never forget.

Do you have a written itinerary? I’d like to see it.

Sure — I put it down so you can be thinking and reading about the places we’ll visit.

Thanks, Dad.

Rosemary had been stirring her tea.

Have you decided between Virginia and Michigan yet?

Pat looked at his mother.

Not yet, mom. Right now, I’m leaning toward Michigan. I’ve grown up here in the South, and maybe it would be best to go north for college. On the other hand, If I go to UVA, I’ll be able to see you and dad more often. Heck, I could probably commute from here.

Russ looked at his Rosemary. He admired her and he knew how much she cared about Patrick, their only child.

Don’t worry about us, son. We’ll be okay, and we’ll visit you wherever you choose, Russ said.

A telephone rang from the hallway beyond