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(Twenty-two minutes to impact)
Tomi had lost track of time. His eyes were glued to the screen on which he followed the news.
The situation was escalating by the minute.
Even his earlier simulations couldn't have predicted such a degree of escalation and the rapid-fire conflicts unfolding before his eyes.
Surfing the internet expertly, he dug up various reports from various sources.
He followed the Russian news, which screamed about attacks on Russian installations and cities.
His second screen was focused on Western news agencies, which in turn spoke in cold tones of the losses on their side.
Tomi followed it all faithfully, and even ignored the footage in which two incredibly attractive girls were literally undressing, gripped by passion in one of the toilets.
There's time for that, later — right now he had more important business.
His attention was drawn to a screen showing footage from the low-quality camera of some cheaper phone.
It showed three enormous columns of smoke rising between the silhouettes of ships on the open sea.
He turned on the sound, and the earphones filled with the nervous voice of an exhausted anchorwoman:
… as one can surmise, both aircraft carriers have been hit. The USS Harry S. Truman and the USS Gerald R. Ford have suffered enormous damage from direct hits by Russian hypersonic nuclear missiles that evidently caught the allied fleet by surprise…
The screen now filled with footage from a higher-quality camera that showed, even from a distance, one of the enormous ships listing onto its side.
Traces of munitions flashed through the air, fired from the sides of ships in the fleet at several more terrifyingly fast missiles plunging from the clear sky.
The screen went white when yet another missile struck the already-breached hull of the enormous ship.
After the initial flash, a fireball appeared and the familiar mushroom-shaped outline of destruction above the ship, which, even from a distance, seemed to scream in agony.
… as you can see, dear viewers… The anchorwoman sounded rattled and alarmed.
You can see the scale of the destruction and the direct damage to the allied fleet.
I don't know… her voice trembled … how to describe it to you — see for yourselves, in any case.
Our crew is on the coast of Estonia, some thirty kilometers from the allied fleet…
The screen flashed once more, confirming another hit.
…and right now we are witnessing a historic precedent, the use of Russia's nuclear capability against allied ships…
Tomi leaned back and laced his fingers over his head in disbelief.
Nukes cast the course of events in a new light.
He quickly switched the channel to one of the Arab TV stations.
A dark-skinned man was talking nonstop, while behind him played footage of destroyed shipping.
A map showed a large circle on the sea off the city of Odesa in occupied Ukraine.
"God, they hit there too!!!" burst from his mouth in disbelief.
He began frantically flipping through pages of programs and news.
In a panic he searched for some American news or stations that might answer his questions about the American retaliation.
He ignored the British and French news, which were also screaming about the losses of their own aircraft carriers.
It looked like the Russians had checkmated the NATO alliance.
In one smooth move they had disabled or sunk most of the active allied aircraft carriers stationed near Europe or the Pacific.
With the help of China — which had evidently at the same moment struck Guam with its own nuclear hypersonic missiles — the allied fleets were reduced to the handful of carriers that were either under repair in home ports or patrolling to protect the coasts of America.
Tomi went pale. Nuclear weapons meant only one thing.
Retaliation. And the footage on one of the screens confirmed his thinking.
It showed the hurried takeoff of stealth aircraft and American stratospheric bombers from bases in America.
With trembling hands, Tomi took off the earphones, from which a presenter's voice still came from one of the many open internet browsers.
Finally, he became aware of a humming he'd never heard before.
He turned, and his eyes filled with the lit screens of the ancient computers scrolling heaps of data.
The columns of electronics hummed, and above the bathroom a red lamp rhythmically switched on and off.
He jumped up in a panic, and the chair thudded dully into the console of electronics, unplugging a few cables.
Three laptops went dark, but that didn't matter.
Tomi went up to the nearest computer, on which rows of a program written in ancient DOS were scrolling.
He didn't recognize the controls, but from the quantity of the word "OK" he concluded that the system was running a diagnostic and executing commands from some program.
Tomi tried to intervene, but the system kept doing its own thing.
He looked around the room, went to a few more computers, but everywhere programs were appearing that had nothing to do with him or his electronics.
Tomi felt a draft of air and realized the ventilation above his head had switched on.
That had never happened before. Ventilation wasn't needed on this level, because enough fresh air came in from the open entrance.
The turn of events was too far beyond expectation, and Tomi needed Nick's advice.
And he needed to tell him about the war, too.
"God!" burst from his mouth.
He had to tell everyone, everyone was in danger, he had to warn all those partying and unaware of the growing escalation.
There was so much to do. He hurriedly took out his phone and dialed Nick's number.
But the call didn't connect. He looked at the phone's screen and saw there was no signal.
He always had a signal here, and now there was none.
Something was wrong with the connections.
He tried to call the emergency services, but that call didn't go through either.
The phone was just an expensive toy with no signal, no internet access.
The internet! Gripped by panic, he all but ran to his laptop, but defeat filled his eyes when he saw he wasn't online.
And all the screens, moments ago full of news, now glared white or displayed messages that the internet could not be reached.
He felt strong vibrations, and a cloud of dust spread through the room, swirling up in protest through the air, roused from its decade-long sleep.