With missiles arcing through the lower mesosphere towards Moscow, Jim blinked as the lights flickered on, the buzz of fluorescents filling the room, followed closely by whirs and beeps from the wall full of computer equipment on the wall opposite him. Tape reels, analog dials, a forest of pushbuttons, switches and indicator lights betrayed its age. He stepped towards it, amazed that it seemed to be functioning. The focal point of the entire console was an ancient teletype, that resembled a heavy duty typewriter, with a curl of yellowed paper jutting out the top. As he approached, it came to life, chunking across the page, dust flying. He scanned the page.

0420207 A78SS
DD SCEN . #14
RED TGTS
N55 °45.0, E037 °37.19 MOS
N59 °55.8, E030 °19.23 STP
N45 °38.39, E063 °17.40 BAK
BREAK
AUTO LAUNCH SQE START : T 05:03
TIME TO TGT : T -15:56

It continued to print. Whatever this was, it didn’t look good.
That’s when the phone rang, causing Jim to jump and swivel to the black rotary phone atop the console.