It’s not likely that four nuclear warheads would be cheaper than one big one, but in the grand scheme of things that’s not really much of an issue. Even if the smaller weapons cost more, as a group they can do a lot more damage and offer targeting versatility too. They offer a lot more bang for just a little more buck. Just the sort of thing weapons planners look for.
The Hiroshima bomb destroyed everything (all structures flattened) within a mile radius of ground zero, the spot on the ground over which the bomb was detonated. A 500 kiloton weapon would destroy everything within a five mile radius. That would leave seventy-five square miles of complete devastation. Four of the little guys would wipe three hundred square miles of a city off the face of the earth. That doesn’t include surrounding areas that are just “badly damaged”.
In theory, if we scale up the casualty rate of Hiroshima, a little old 500 kiloton weapon would kill six hundred thousand people, with total casualties (killed and injured) of about 1.2 million. If the target justified it, four of these bombs could kill 2.4 million people, with total casualties of 4.8 million. (Small really isn’t that small, is it?)
There are relatively few cities on Earth that have populations in the fives and tens of millions. It is generally assumed that most cities are likely to have lower population densities than a city in 1940s Japan and that modern cities are less likely to have as many wood structures as 1945 Hiroshima, so most targets would yield fewer casualties. (Wooden structures burn easily and much of the damage in Hiroshima has always been attributed to fires after the bomb exploded.) A conservative estimate for the human damage that would be caused by a half megaton weapon might be something like six hundred thousand immediate- and shortly-after casualties. This estimate assumes somewhat fewer immediate deaths and that a lot of the nonfatal casualties would survive.
Assume that one U.S. ICBM (InterContinental Ballistic Missile) payload is about four warheads (most U.S. missiles carry a number of independently targetable warheads, the MIRV concept). By the conservative estimates above, one missile can produce 2.4 million killed and wounded as a conservative estimate. It might cause five million casualties if some of the things we’ve done to the math are wrong on the conservative side. For example, since each warhead can take its own path (probably within some limits) each warhead in a single missile has a pretty good chance of getting its maximum casualty rate.
Concerning what it would take to really damage a society like the U.S. or the Russian Federation, we have to consider population densities- how many people would be close to ground zero if a warhead or a bomb struck.
According to the 2010 U.S. Census, there are roughly 500 urban areas in the U.S. with a population above 50,000. The U.S. nuclear arsenal contains around 1,600 “active” weapons, and the Russian arsenal about the same number, to distribute across metropolitan areas. With that many nuclear weapons available, every city in the U.S. with a population greater than 50,000 could have its own. Given the relatively small number of population centers, complete destruction of most of them along with nearly complete destruction of any suburbs could be achieved without using anywhere near the total number of weapons presently available. Most if not all of the smaller population centers and surrounding areas would be completely destroyed by single half megaton warheads.
Furthermore, according to the Census there are only twenty-six “urban agglomerations” with populations in excess of one million in the U.S. If every one of the five hundred “large” population centers was allocated one nuclear warhead, that would leave eleven hundred warheads for the truly large population concentrations (using three or four on densely populated New York City and six or seven on greater Los Angeles, for example), however many military facilities not near a metro center that an enemy might want to target, and strategic targets like oil fields and strategically sensitive dams, with almost certainly enough left over to destroy or at least significantly damage Europe. If only the U.S. was targeted by our most powerful nuclear adversary, quite a few weapons would have no place to go.
There would be plenty to sprinkle around. This assumes that the major powers don’t recondition or rebuild their mothballed nuclear arsenals, too- roughly six thousand more warheads each in the U.S. and Russia- and we have a “peaceful” little war. If geopolitical tensions took a while to get really serious both sides might decide to take their “inactive” weapons out of mothballs. With 7,500 warheads, targets might get down to hamlet size. Or perhaps additional nations would be included in first strikes, just to level the playing field for the principle combatants after the apocalypse.
There’s a good argument to be made that a “controlled” nuclear war between NATO and Russia couldn’t possibly destroy the world. But would Russia and the U.S. really want to deal with an intact China and India after they’ve devastated each other with massive nuclear strikes? Even Brazil would be a potential threat. Wouldn’t it make sense to take care of this problem? After all, the intent is to come out on top, not end up a mutilated second-class power. And there might well be a bunch of nukes in storage, just waiting to benefit the mother country.
Then there’s the possibility that India and China might just go to war shortly after any sort of controlled European scenario. Someone might think that with the major Caucasian nuclear powers out of the game it’s a good time to go for global domination. Can’t do that if the other surviving player is still on the board. Spin the wheel and go for it. With their huge populations, it’s a pretty safe bet that some war planner would think that enough of his citizens would survive to make a tidy little empire after the radioactive dust clears.
It is interesting that U.S. analysts have often used the assumption that mostly military installations would be targeted, mitigating the number of civilian casualties considerably. With so many weapons available, however, why concentrate on military targets? The idea might have been that it makes no sense to demolish a nation completely; just kill the military and you can walk right in. Right?
Well, there is a lot of evidence that an assumption like that is completely wrong. The Nazis nearly destroyed the British army in World War II, but the United Kingdom didn’t just roll over and quit. They nearly did the same to the Russian army, but by late 1942 the Russians had rebuilt and turned the war around at Stalingrad. The primary rationale for the first use of atomic weapons was that the Japanese wouldn’t simply surrender when their military was destroyed. All the hard, bloody evidence in the Pacific indicated that even civilians would die to protect the empire. Evidence doesn’t support the idea that any conflict can be restricted to military targets. With the exception of a small period in post-Renaissance European history, there doesn’t seem to be much evidence that anyone has every cared about losing civilians in a shooting war. In every war, there seems to have been considerable lip service but no genuine concern for civilians.
As for the number of fatalities and the likelihood that nonfatal immediate casualties would survive, only two cities in Japan were ever hit with atomic bombs, so the rest of the nation could provide some assistance. How many of the injured would survive if an entire nation were attacked? Where would millions of nonfatal casualties go for treatment to save their lives?
It’s hard not to question the idea that a nuclear war would result in the extinction of humanity. On the other hand, doing the math with some fairly reasonable assumptions about the level and quality of rearmament prior to a real war gives one pause. The possibility also has history on its side. It only takes a casual look at World Wars I and II to conclude that a “restricted” nuclear war wouldn’t stay restricted very long. No one really talks about it, but realistic estimates of WW II fatalities run about sixty-five million. That was a war that was almost completely over by the time the two atomic bombs were used. A lot changed in the decade after WW II. How much more effective is our weaponry after seventy-five years? Is it that much of a stretch to consider the possibility that a global nuclear war could wipe out humanity?
Long Shot
/> Charleston, SC
Emmett Oakley, Lieutenant Commander USN, presently serving on the nuclear aircraft carrier USS Harry S. Truman, was asleep next to a very nice young lady when his cell phone rang. It woke both of them up. He had to think for a second to remember where his phone was. He wasn't happy when he realized he would have to get out of bed to get his phone out of his pants pocket. It was cold in the apartment. He couldn't quite understand how his phone was actually working, but there was no question that it was ringing in a most annoying way.
He got up and staggered a little as he went to the chair where he'd left his pants. It was early morning but he could see just enough in the half light to find them and look in the pocket where he usually kept his phone.
The young woman looked up, stretched a little and asked sleepily, "Your phone is ringing? How can that be?"
"Good question." Emmett got into his pants pocket and pulled out the noisy phone. The phone's clock read 6 AM.
"Hello?"
"Emmett, Harvey here. Get up and get moving. You have to get back to the ship."
"How are you calling me? And why do I have to come back to the ship? I've got another day's leave."
"The Navy's jury rigged a hook into the city's cell system and helped get the city system back up. And now that you know that, you know that your leave has been canceled."
Emmett wiped a hand across his eyes. "Shit. Okay, how much time have I got?"
"Wake up, will you? The answer to that question is none whatever. Get your ass up and get moving. CAG wants to see you, Charlene and me as soon as you get back, which should have been ten minutes ago. Looks like we're shipping out. Not sure when but we’ve got a briefing this morning."
"All right, all right, but I've got to get a cab and then catch one of the water taxis. I'm on the opposite side of town."
"Get moving, and I'll try to stay scarce until you get here. Now move it!" Emmett heard the cell cut off. He stared at the phone for a second, trying to organize his thoughts.
First, he had to get dressed. Second, he didn't want to just blow this girl off; she was nice and he'd just had the best night of the last two terrible years. Quite possibly the best he'd had further back than that. What was her name again? Loretta? Third, and probably actually second, he had to use the head.
He turned back towards the bed and was at once thrilled and incredibly disappointed to see Loretta leaning against her pillow, the very pretty breasts he had the pleasure of meeting last night just peaking over the bed covers. The view was great, but this was the last he'd see of them for quite a while. Maybe forever.
"What's up? Do you have to go?"
Emmett picked up his underwear from the chair where his pants had been, set the pants aside and pulled on his boxers. He couldn't help looking unhappy.
"Yeah, baby. I guess they've been looking for me. My leave has been canceled and I have to get back right away. Looks like we're shipping out soon. I have to get moving." He pulled on his pants and then went for his undershirt.
Loretta pulled the sheet up over her chest and sat up. "Will I see you again?"
He pulled on his undershirt, then pulled on his shirt and started to button up.
"Who knows, with the way things are now?" It was an abrupt, almost rude answer and he was immediately sorry he'd said it.
"I'm sorry, hon. Pretty unlikely we're going out on a training run. Sometimes ships have emergencies that aren't, but it's not often we get a call to meet with the wing leader just as we ship out. Besides, this is wartime." He finished the buttons and stopped dressing for a moment. He looked at her with pain and hope in his eyes. "I'd like to see you again, Loretta. I just can't make any promises. We could sail out today and not come back. All I can promise is that if I can make it, I'll be back."
He sat down on the chair and started to pull on his socks. She threw the sheet aside, sat up on the edge of the bed and turned on the little light on her side table. Emmett did his best to focus on his socks, a task made much harder with a beautiful and very nude female so close. She quickly pulled on what looked like a sweatshirt. She opened the drawer in the table and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen and wrote something. She rose from the bed, walked the few steps to where Emmett sat and knelt down beside him. He stopped dressing as she pushed the little sheet of paper into his pocket.
She looked at him and smiled. "Now that we might have cell phone service again I'll get my cell charged up. You've got my name, number and address on that paper. If none of those work you should be able to get me through Naval Base, Charleston. I'm not going to promise anything silly like I'll wait for you, but if you're in town I'd really like to see you. You're a nice guy, Emmett, and nice guys were rare before everything...came apart." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and then stepped away from him. "I'll let you finish dressing." She found what looked like pajama bottoms and put them on. Emmett was all too aware that she was braless and not wearing panties, but the coverage helped him focus a little. "Um, I'll look in the kitchen and see what I've got that you can take with you. It sounds like you might not be able to eat for a while." She stepped out of the bedroom.
He got his shoes on and then stopped for a moment to think. He got up and stuck his head around the corner of the door. "I have to use your bathroom." Loretta looked at him and almost laughed. "Sure. Go ahead. I'll make you some peanut butter toast. It's not much but I don't have much else."
He used the head, washed his hands, splashed some water into his mouth and stood in front of the sink to think for a second. He was really going to miss the last day of his leave. The last month had been training and drill with the drones, the hours long and hard. He could have used the last bit of rest, especially if it was next to Loretta.
He jammed a hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, both American currency and Navy scrip. He took a rough cut at splitting his cash in two, making sure to put some real dollars in both piles. One stack he put back in his pants; the other he stuffed into his shirt pocket. He opened the bathroom door and stepped over to the little kitchen.
Loretta handed him a small glass of orange juice with a slice of peanut butter toast on a napkin. "I hope this helps."
Emmett took the orange juice in a single gulp and then took a bite of the toast. He set the glass down on the counter and pulled the cash out of his shirt pocket. "Here. I want you to have this." He held out the wad of cash to her.
Loretta looked shocked for a second, and Emmett immediately saw storm clouds brewing. Her jaw tightened. “Look, this wasn’t a money deal. I don’t want your-”
He held up his hands in surrender. "Now wait," he said. “I just wanted to give you something and who knows if I'll ever have a chance to buy you something nice, and with the way things are going you can put it to better use than I can." His eyes went bleak. "I've got no one but you to share it with, anyhow. I want you to have it. Use it as you see fit. When I get back, I'll get you something more fitting."
She took the cash. "Like I said, Em. You're a nice guy. Take care of yourself, and come back." She stepped close to him and kissed him, this time on the mouth. She stepped back and wiped her face, her eyes glistening, a little smile flitting by. "Peanut butter."
Emmett took the stairs down from Loretta's apartment and looked up and down her street, trying to get his bearings. It might be hard getting back to the ship. It wasn't that he was lost. He just had to find a cab to get him to the port where he could pick up one of the Navy water taxis. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable walk to the port if he couldn't find a cab. It was a cold morning, which didn't help. It was May in South Carolina, and there was still an inch or so of snow on the ground.
His chest was tight, his mind a jumble of good feelings and unhappiness. His main problem was that he had a long, lovely night with the first woman he'd slept with in over two years, starting with a little hard alcohol and then proceeding to a fair amount of sex. When they met, he wasn’t sure about her. She was gay, smiling- maybe a little to
o gay. He thought she might be a hooker, but she was gorgeous and he was in need.
It had been a little awkward when they got back to her apartment. She was a little tight, maybe a little frightened. They both were, really. The gaiety had slipped and she was kind of tentative.
The first round had been a little awkward, but it had been good. Then they both began to relax. The sex had been interspersed with cuddling and intimate conversation. It was funny, but the cuddles were almost better than the sex. It was with a pretty thing that he hardly knew, too.
They had gone far into the night, sharing thoughts and bodies. There had been a little dozing between sex and cuddles, but the net of two hours of solid sleep was making it rather hard to think clearly. Then there was the guilt of having sex with a woman not his wife. Last of all there was the depressing shape of the world at large. During the night he and Loretta had escaped the reality of their world, but now it was daylight and the world was back.
He was trying to be a hard, veteran naval officer in time of war, but it wasn't easy to maintain the illusion. He focused on walking and eating his peanut butter toast to keep from getting choked up about his situation. He felt guilty about having sex with a woman he barely knew, but reality was that his first love and their only child were almost certainly gone from his world, taken as San Diego was obliterated by the Russian missile. There was a remote chance that they had survived if they hadn't been at home. He wanted to believe that they were out there somewhere, still alive and somehow still healthy. He wanted to, but the chances were so remote the hope made little sense. At least he might have a chance to get back to San Diego in the Navy. Someday, if it made any sense to even try.
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