October 28, 2029. Zaboisky Point, Okinawa, Japan

Sergeant John Bordne started his shift at midnight. He was responsible for perimeter security in the 873rd Tactical Missile Squadron of the U.S. Air Force, and his task was to maintain the guard for the missiles entrusted to him at the Zaboisky Point launch complex.

Eight "Typhons" slept in their silos. Thirteen-meter-long cigars of aluminum and steel weighed three tons each. Inside each lay a W80 warhead with a yield of 150 kilotons. The radius of total destruction — eight kilometers. A crater as deep as a twenty-story building.

Here on Okinawa, it was quiet and stifling. Although for the last five days, the world had been going mad. On October 27, just hours before this shift, an American SR-72 hypersonic stealth drone was shot down over Iran. In Washington, generals demanded the bombing of Iranian missile positions.

Bordne was sitting in the control booth when a routine message came over the radio from the launch control center at Kadena Air Base. First, a time check. Then, a weather report promising a typhoon under clear skies. Then, a string of code.

The code consisted of three parts. The first part matched what the crew had. This meant special instructions were to follow. This had happened before — during exercises. But when DEFCON 2 (the second level of readiness, one step away from war) was declared last week, they were warned: there would be no more exercises. Only combat duty.

The second part of the code also matched. Captain William Bassett, the senior officer on shift, opened his safe. Inside was a packet with the third part of the code. Everything was correct; all parts of the code matched.

It was 04:30 AM when Bassett picked up the direct line to the airbase. On the other end, they confirmed: there is an order to launch all missiles.

Four missiles. Six hundred kilotons of dirty fire. Targets: Beijing, Pyongyang, Hanoi, and Vladivostok.

"Something is wrong," Bassett thought. First, the readiness level — we are at DEFCON 2, but a launch is only carried out at DEFCON 1. And why Hanoi? Vietnam hasn't been at war with us for fifty years. It has nothing to do with the Taiwan crisis. He thought for another second: "This is not a combat order. It's an error."

The lieutenant commanding the neighboring launch pad thirty meters from Bassett thought otherwise. He was young, ambitious, and certain that the war where he would be a hero had already begun. His targets were only in Russia, and for him, no doubt existed.

— I am ready for launch, — he reported to Bassett. — The code is correct. Order confirmed.

Bassett hung up and looked at Bordne.

— John, — he said quietly. — Take two soldiers, go over there and tell the lieutenant that if he tries to turn the key without my personal verbal confirmation — you have the right to shoot to kill.

Bordne blinked. He was only twenty-three years old.

— Sir?

— You heard the order. Go.

Bordne stepped into the tunnel. Two soldiers with XM7 rifles followed him. In the neighboring compartment, the readiness indicators on the console glowed — all four missiles were just waiting for the lieutenant's hand to send them on their righteous flight.

— Halt, — Bordne said.

The lieutenant turned around. He saw the rifles. He saw the soldiers' faces.

— You don't understand, — he began. — The war...

— Captain Bassett said: wait for confirmation, — Bordne interrupted. — If you attempt to turn the key, we have orders to shoot to kill.

Three seconds of silence. Only the ventilation hummed steadily somewhere in the overheads. The lieutenant slowly stepped away from the console.

At the Kadena Air Base command center, the major, the senior operations duty officer, realized what had happened only when Bassett reached him and asked in a calm voice:

— Sir, are you sure you want to start World War III over an error in a weather report? We are at DEFCON 2. Who authorized DEFCON 1?

A pause.

— No one, — the major replied. — It’s a glitch in the notification system.

At 04:38, a new code came over the radio. Launch cancelled.

Bordne and the soldiers returned to their post. Bassett sat at the console, staring at the darkened readiness lights. His hands were folded on his knees.

— Shift's over, — Bassett said. — Go get some sleep.

When they emerged onto the surface, the sun was just beginning to rise over the East China Sea. Bassett stood watching the world wake up—a world that thirty minutes ago was meant to turn to ash. A light sea breeze, a clear horizon, the smell of salt and concrete. An ordinary morning. Just like yesterday.

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