Asteroid Diversion Read online

  Massive asteroid to pass Earth with second closest approach in over 120 years ~ Aristos Georgiou, Newsweek, June 18, 2019

  The space rock, known as 441987 (NY65), is estimated to measure nearly one-thousand feet in diameter according to NASA’s Center for Near Earth Object Studies.

  Because of its close proximity to Earth, it is classified as potentially hazardous. What makes this asteroid particularly interesting for study is that with each pass around the Sun, it grows increasingly closer to the Earth due to our planet’s gravitational pull.

  A space rock of this size would cause devastation across localized regions in the event of a land impact, or a tsunami that could badly damage low-lying areas if hit the ocean. In addition, the collision of NY65 would have wider-reaching effects and could result in global climactic changes that could last for years.

  Such an impact would produce an explosive force containing 65,000 times more energy than the Hiroshima atomic bomb.

  NASA estimates that two-thirds of NEOs larger than 460 feet remain to be discovered, so there are likely many potentially hazardous objects which are unaccounted for.

  Epigraph

  “I despise the lottery. There’s less chance of you becoming a millionaire than there is of getting hit on the head by a passing asteroid.”

  ~ Brian May, English astrophysicist and lead guitarist for the rock band Queen

  *****

  “When you have an asteroid threatening Earth, it’s uncertain where it will hit until the last minute.”

  ~ Rusty Schweickart, former U.S. Air Force fighter pilot and astronaut

  *****

  “Immediately after the tribulation of those days shall the sun be darkened, and the moon shall not give her light, and the stars shall fall from heaven, and the powers of the heavens shaken.”

  ~ Matthew 24:29

  *****

  “The great mountain encompasses seven stadia

  After peace, war, famine, flooding

  Shall spread far, sinking many countries

  Even the ancient landscapes to their foundations.”

  ~ Nostradamus, Centuries I, Quatrain 69

  *****

  “Sooner or later, we will face a catastrophic threat from space. Of all the possible threats, only a gigantic asteroid hit can destroy the entire planet. If we prepare now, we better our odds of survival. The dinosaurs never knew what hit them.”

  ~ Michio Kaku, American Physicist

  Prologue

  Command and Control Deck

  The Dmitriy Donskoy

  Off the Continental Shelf near Bermuda

  Atlantic Ocean

  The old Soviet Union was a master at propaganda, and despite the fact that the world witnessed the collapse of the U.S.S.R. in 1991 into fifteen separate countries, the tools of media manipulation were still maintained in the Land of Rus.

  Longtime Russian president Vladimir Putin had been trained as a foreign intelligence officer in the KGB and focused his efforts on the weaknesses of the United States, beginning with its gullible media—news, entertainment, and social.

  In 2017, Moscow announced, in a show of détente to the new American president, that it would be destroying two of the largest strategic nuclear submarines in the world. The Dmitriy Donskoy and the Severstal were holdovers from the old Soviet Union and slated to be decommissioned.

  However, unbeknownst to Washington, as other Akula-class submarines were being mothballed, these two warhorses of the seas were being retrofitted with RSM-56 Bulava ballistic nuclear missiles. Like the newly designed Borei class of subs, these last two Akula class were designed to be an integral part of the Russian nuclear triad of submarine-based, aircraft-launched, and space-based weaponry.

  The Americans took the Russians at their word, but due to the secrecy surrounding all Russian military activity, they were unable to verify the continued existence of these two nuclear submarines until recently.

  The Donskoy, bearing hull number TK-208, lurked along the cold, dark waters just off the continental shelf, sailing as far south as the Blake Ridge off the coast of Savannah and upward along the shelf toward Norfolk Canyon before circling back into the Atlantic Ocean, ostensibly to return to the Russians’ Northern Fleet.

  Instead, the Donskoy was deployed in a circular pattern, making a wide sweep east of the island of Bermuda before approaching U.S. territorial waters again. Like a shark circling its prey, the Donskoy waited for that moment when it was time to strike.

  Captain Third Rank Gorky, the submarine’s first officer, strolled through the central command deck of the Donskoy, looking over the shoulders of the ship’s crew as they intently studied the Americans’ activities at Cape Canaveral.

  On the surface, it appeared to be a routine rocket launch of the newest technology deployed by the NASA space agency—the Falcon Heavy rocket system, on a mission to divert 2029 IM86. However, their intelligence reminded them that the Americans were not to be trusted, and Moscow had a vested interest in landing on the asteroid first.

  The crew had been ordered to combat stations the day before, tracking the activity at the Kennedy Space Center using the American news media’s camera feeds, as well as their own Kosmos reconnaissance satellites.

  It was quiet on the command deck as Captain Second Rank Stepanov, the submarine’s commander, walked briskly toward his first officer. He nodded to his subordinate and leaned in to whisper his directives.

  “It has not been confirmed. Intelligence believes the Americans have deployed a nuclear payload on Falcon Heavy, but without further evidence, we’re told to stand down.”

  Gorky, whose surname ironically meant extremely bitter, grimaced. He’d been steeling for a fight. Like his father before him, he’d been passed over for advancement during his career. He was anxious to show his superiors what his capabilities were, but found himself hamstrung by Moscow’s unwillingness to take the fight to the Americans before their adversaries gained the upper hand.

  “Our nuclear-detection systems will provide us the evidence, no?”

  The commander nodded, taking a stroll through the command deck with Gorky. “Da. The Chinese upgrades to our system will alert us within thirty seconds of a nuclear launch. Our advanced missile launch systems can react quicker than any nation on the planet.”

  Gorky patted one of the Russian sailors on the shoulder. “Place the communications feed from NASA on the overhead speakers.”

  The young man quickly complied, and the first words the crew heard were T minus thirty-one seconds and counting.

  “We will know soon enough about the Americans’ intentions,” said Gorky as he stood back and rotated his body three hundred sixty degrees. He nodded his head and smiled inwardly. He wasn’t formally in command of the Donskoy, but this was his ship nonetheless.

  T minus ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven.

  Stepanov was stoic as he gladly allowed his subordinate to take the helm. He was close to retirement and a relaxing future on his farm in Russia’s southern Rostov region. Stepanov remained out of the way, standing near one of the two lowered periscopes, occasionally glancing up at the monitors that encircled the command deck.

  Gorky stood behind the two fire-control computer displays, peering between the heads of the two michmanny, the rank equivalent of a seaman in the U.S. Navy.

  Solid rocket booster ignition and we have liftoff of Orbital Slingshot One!

  Gorky could hear the cheers from the Launch Control facility in Florida and sneered at the video screen depicting flag-waving Americans cheering the launch.

  “We’ll see how long you will be cheering in a moment,” he snarled, but barely above a whisper.

  Power and telemetry are nominal.

  The rocket was forty-five seconds into flight. Frustrated, Gorky slammed the back of the padded swivel chairs of the michmanny. Stepanov had a different reaction.

  “This is for the better,” he said, breaking the tense silence on the command deck. “The fate of the asteroid and the m
ission to land is no longer up—”

  WARNING! Nuclear launch detected. WARNING! Nuclear launch detected.

  The sub’s onboard computer system screamed into Gorky’s ears, causing him to jump slightly. Beads of sweat immediately poured off his forehead, and his hands began to shake. He’d been waiting for this moment his entire career. An opportunity to show the arrogant Americans they were not superior to anyone.

  Vehicle is supersonic.

  “It’s getting away!” he shouted as Commander Stepanov joined his side to study the monitors. “Arm countermeasures and prepare to fire.”

  “You will not fire unless on my command,” ordered Stepanov, slightly shoving Gorky away from the two nervous michmanny.

  “But, sir!”

  “You heard me. Stand down until I order otherwise!”

  Gorky studied the computer screens and shook his head in disbelief. The artificial intelligence calculated that the Falcon Heavy rocket would be directly over Bermuda in a matter of seconds. Once it cleared the island, it would be in a perfect position to be intercepted and destroyed by the submarine’s Bulava nuclear missiles.

  Maximum dynamic pressure achieved.

  Gorky stomped his right foot and swung away from the console, visibly upset, and pounded his way toward the other end of the command deck.

  He couldn’t contain himself. “How long since liftoff?”

  BECO.

  He understood rocket launch procedures, having been enamored with the space race as a child. He knew that the booster engines were being cut off, and soon the Americans and their nuclear payload would be out of reach.

  “Sir, we are running out of time. We cannot be responsible for allow—” Gorky was interrupted by the submarine’s voice warning system.

  WARNING! Nuclear launch detected. WARNING! Nuclear launch detected.

  “We will wait for our authorization!” Stepanov was angry now. “You will stand down, Gorky, until the proper orders have been received.”

  MECO.

  “Sir, the American orbiter will be under its own power now. We’ve lost our opportunity.” Gorky dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head in disgust. He gave up the fight, suddenly realizing that the insubordination shown to his commander in front of the fully staffed command deck would likely end his career.

  Stepanov, who remained calm throughout, turned to the monitors. He read the launch time aloud. “Three minutes, forty-five seconds.”

  Separation ignition.

  Captain Second Rank Stepanov stood and exhaled. He understood that their mission was over. The decision to have the Donskoy stand down was made for reasons he’d never know. He shoved his hands in his pockets and watched the American crew of eleven soar into space.

  Until they weren’t.

  PART ONE

  Friday, April 13

  ASTROMETRY

  Identification Number: 2029 IM86

  Right Ascension: 08 hours 42 minutes 13.3 seconds

  Declination: -21 degrees 01 minute 39 seconds

  Greatest Elongation: 20.0 degrees

  Nominal Distance from Earth: 0.30 astronomical units

  Relative Velocity: 27,992 meters per second

  Chapter 1

  Friday, April 13

  National Control Defense Center

  Russian Ministry of Defense

  Moscow, Russia

  “You cannot fight in here. This is the war room, and now we may be at war with the United States!”

  Sergei Mikalov had lost his composure as his subordinates argued with one another over the tactics used against the American rocket. The longtime Minister of Defense—who’d shepherded the Russian Federation through the annexation of Crimea, the protection of Syria’s president Bashar al-Assad, and the installation of a puppet government in Venezuela—was uncharacteristically perturbed.

  He kept glancing nervously at the double doors leading to President Putin’s private office suite at the Russian Ministry of Defense building. Then his attention was focused on the video of the Americans’ space orbiter being destroyed.

  The three-tier, multibillion-dollar control center might have been fortified against nuclear armaments dropped from above, but nothing could protect the occupants staring at the movie-theater-size screens from the wrath of President Vladimir Putin.

  The facility’s legendary nerve center was designed to coordinate Russian military activity around the world and beyond. Knowingly violating every treaty in existence, even those proposed regarding the strategic nuclear deployments in space, the top brass under Mikalov’s command watched in dismay as the artificial intelligence of the Astra Linux computer operating system, developed to meet the need of the Russian armed forces and intelligence agencies, refused to respond to its human operators’ demands to stand down.

  The result was not only catastrophic for the Americans’ space mission, but might also result in the commencement of World War III. In a single mishap, Russia’s nuclear space program was exposed, eleven American astronauts were killed, and the world would be bracing for nuclear Armageddon.

  Mikalov knew who would be held accountable. His fate would rival those of his counterparts in North Korea, he surmised.

  Except, he was wrong.

  The double doors swung open and the sound of the heavy leather boots donned by President Putin’s security team marched along the tile floor with the loud claps of a quarter horse. The small-statured Putin, somewhat frail after decades of restoring Mother Russia to its greatness, walked into the room with his head held high and a smile on his face.

  The entirety of the staff turned to observe his entry, averting their eyes from the diplomatic train wreck that had unfolded thirty minutes ago. Every man and woman in the National Control Defense Center prepared themselves for a tongue-lashing. What they got astonished them all.

  President Putin stopped and began clapping. “Bravo! Bravo! Otlichno!” He was commending the team on their excellent work. In fact, he could hardly contain himself.

  He strutted over to Mikalov and stuck out his hand to shake. Mikalov, slightly older and much more obese, was still sweating, but made a quick attempt to dry his right hand on his uniform. President Putin shook it heartily, causing sweat to spray off the Defense Minister’s forehead.

  “But, sir, the Americans will be, um, are—” Mikalov stuttered as he tried to remind his president of the ramifications of the nuclear strike.

  “Oh, who cares about the Americans,” Putin said, waving his hand as if to erase the thought from the air. “They won’t do anything. They never do. Be happy, Sergei. Your nuclear defense system is a success. We just sent a message to the world that not only do we have superior offensive strike capabilities, but no nation dares test our defenses, or their rockets will suffer the same fate as the American orbiter.”

  Mikalov furrowed his brow and nodded. “Yes, Mr. President, I suppose you are correct. Our fail-safe system performed as expected, only the artificial intelligence did not respond to our direct counter-commands.”

  President Putin wasn’t interested in putting a damper on his nation’s success. Once again, he waved his hand through the air with the intent of dismissing his Defense Minister’s concerns. “A minor glitch I am sure your technicians will correct. Better to make a mistake and live than succeed, only to die, da?”

  Mikalov shrugged, somewhat confused by Putin’s meaning. “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Good. Now, Sergei, advise your staff to continue monitoring the skies, and I will attend to the diplomatic issues.”

  President Putin looked around the room and beamed with pride. This was his baby, built during a period of a massive decade-long modernization of Russia’s military capabilities.

  The hundreds of billions of dollars needed to create the facility had been made through a combination of oil sales and extortion from despots like Venezuela’s Maduro and Syria’s al-Assad. President Putin’s modus operandi was a simple one: We will provide you protection and ensure your reign. You pr
ovide us unfettered access to your natural resources or geographical points of significance.

  During times of military conflict, or heightened cold-war tensions, President Putin often came here to observe missions in real time. To be sure, their surveillance capabilities had some holes, as evidenced by the American operatives’ advancement to their Cosmodrome in Far East Russia, but overall, Russia’s military capabilities were now second to none, and with China as a strong ally, the Americans’ influence in the world had been greatly diminished.

  The downing of the orbiter was just more egg on Washington’s face, and it delighted President Putin immensely.

  An aide rushed through the doors and scurried to President Putin’s side.

  “What is it?”

  “I have an update on our mission to the asteroid, sir. And, well, the Americans are, um, shall I say—apopleksicheskiy?”

  President Putin roared with laughter, once again drawing the attention of everyone in the massive trilevel war room. “They are? Apoplectic? Good! Let’s go pretend to apologize!”

  He began laughing again, something that didn’t happen often unless he was truly pleased with himself.

  “Yes, Mr. President. Exactly so. They have already demanded a United Nations’ inquiry.”

  “Who cares? Another waste of time.”

  “Um, yes, sir. Also, they are demanding our envoy’s presence at the White House immediately.”

  President Putin began to march away from the aide and back toward his office suite. “Has Minister Lavrov arrived?”

  The aide scurried to keep up with the president, who was marching with a purpose. “Yes, sir. The Minister of Foreign Affairs has just arrived. Ambassador Antonov is awaiting his instructions.”

  Still beaming, President Putin slowed to take one last look around before exiting. In his mind, he’d already prepared a statement to give the Americans, one that would confound them and provide his cosmonauts time to land on the asteroid.