by Dale Brown
“Hell, we’re sixteen miles above and at least six hundred miles away from the location of that disturbance,” Pugh said. “Imagine what it was like for someone on the ground.”
They did not even want to think about that.
TWENTY
The White House, Washington, D.C. That Same Time
Five minutes after the tiny button in the office of the chief of the Presidential Protection Detail, U.S. Secret Service, was pressed, a large green and white helicopter was dropping out of the gray, ice-filled clouds over Washington, D.C., and lowering onto the front lawn of the White House. The helicopter was of course Marine One, a VH-3D Sea King helicopter flown by HMX-1, the Marines Corps Executive Flight Detachment from Quantico, Virginia. The engines were never brought to idle upon landing—the Marine Corps pilots held the helicopter on the ground by brute strength with the throttles just below takeoff power until their very special passengers and their Secret Service escorts were on board. Then the pilots shoved the power back in and lifted off, swooping low over the Ellipse before rapidly climbing. Seconds after clearing the area, it was joined by two other identical VH-3D VIP helicopters, and the three craft shuffled inflight position in a prebriefed sequence until it could no longer be apparent to anyone on the ground which helicopter was really carrying the President of the United States, his wife, and members of his Cabinet and staff.
It was a short helicopter ride to Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland, and a high-speed tactical landing just a few feet from the left wingtip of a Boeing E-4B NEACAP, or National Emergency Airborne Command Post aircraft. The huge modified Boeing 747B, white with a dark blue stripe across the sides with the words UNITED STATES OF AMERICA in bold letters across the upper half, also had a distinctive bulge on the top of the plane that distinguished this plane from the standard VC-25A Air Force One; the bulge contained a satellite and SHF (Super High Frequency) communications antenna that, along with a two-thousand-foot trailing wire antenna and forty-six other antennas arrayed around the plane, allowed the plane’s occupants to literally talk to anyone in the known world with a radio receiver—even if that radio receiver was aboard a nuclear-powered submarine sitting two hundred feet below the surface of the ocean or in orbit two hundred miles above the Earth. Exactly ninety seconds after Marine One touched down, RAFT-104 (as the NEACAP aircraft was known on an open radio channel) was leaving the ground.
The President, his wife, and their daughter had been securely strapped into plush, high-backed seats in the forward flight crew section of the 4,600-square-foot main deck of the aircraft. The President was a big, handsome young man from what many derisively called a “Deliverance” state—lots of farmers and country folk with the joke being that, as in the movie, the men found the pigs more attractive than the women. He had been one of that state’s youngest and most popular politicians and one of the youngest chief executives of the United States. Despite his frequent campaign and news shots of him jogging around the running track on the South Lawn, he was plainly out of breath after running up the thirty-four steps of the airstair to enter NEACAP. But if it was from physical exertion or from fear of being roused out of the White House by the Secret Service, it was hard to tell. His wife, in stark contrast, was not out of breath one bit. Much shorter than her husband, slim and trim, with professionally lightened, shoulder-length hair and blue eyes, the First Lady was highly intelligent and very much like her husband. It was often said that the combination of this almost inseparable pair was far greater than the sum of their parts. Many couples in the White House had been described as running a copresidency for a variety of reasons, but although she held no official posts or headed any commissions other than ceremonial ones, in this White House there was no doubt that the President and his wife made a very powerful force to reckon with.
Just a few moments after takeoff, the First Lady turned to their lone colleague, Michael J. Lifter, the President’s National Security Advisor, and asked, “What was this about an attack in Europe, Michael? Something happen with Russia and Moldova?” The President’s eyes briefly registered his wife’s question, and there might have been a hint of irritation at her speaking out before he, but he turned toward Lifter and silently awaited his response.
Lifter, just a bit taller than the First Lady, dark and angular, glanced at the communications panel on the table in front of them. “As soon as the air-to-ground channels are open, I’ll get us an update,” he replied, addressing them both. “The word I got was that the Ukraine came under attack by Russian cruise missiles, and that nuclear weapons might be involved.”
“My God,” the First Lady replied. “That’s horrible … it should be confirmed at once. I hope Velichko hasn’t finally gone over the edge.”
“It’ll take a few minutes for the communications group to get connected into the system and a situation report prepared,” Lifter said. He was a former naval officer and a long-time military attaché to the White House, and was very familiar with the interface between the military and civilian halves of the chain of command. Information flowed relatively freely and quickly between military users, especially intraservice, but it flowed less effectively interservice and, in most cases, very poorly between the military and civilian sectors. The First Couple, for example, would never request or accept a standard NMCC SITREP, or National Military Command Center Situation Report—it was so full of abbreviations and acronyms that it would throw both of these Ivy League grads into a royal tizzy. It had to be condensed into a readable, reportable format, and that took time. “Once we’re above ten thousand feet,” Lifter said, adding a definite number that he knew the couple could comprehend, “the crew can unstrap and all stations can hook in. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
While they waited, a crew physician came forward to check the President and the First Lady—he had a history of occasional airsickness—and another crewmember distributed a card with a list of crewmembers on board and facilities ready at the President’s disposal. There was a flight crew of eight—four pilots, two navigators, and two flight engineers in two shifts—a cabin crew of ten, a security crew of ten—all Secret Service, no Marines—a military crew of forty, a secretarial staff of six, a White House advisory staff of eight, a computer operations crew of two, and a medical staff of four. Only the President, the First Lady, and the National Security Advisor had made it to NEACAP when the alarm had sounded. “Aren’t there supposed to be more Cabinet officers on board? What about the Secretary of Defense? Where’s Don Scheer?”
“Sir, during a full-alert scramble, it’s always unlikely that anyone but those in immediate arm’s-length availability with the President will ever make the run,” Michael Lifter explained. “The crew of the airborne command post is chosen carefully for its ability to command the military in time of emergency. It is not really intended to be a flying White House.”
“It’s like a flying Hitler’s bunker,” the First Lady said half-aloud, almost in disgust. She moved closer to her husband and whispered, “We need to get in touch with Don Scheer and Harlan Grimm right away. We can’t be holed up too long with the damned military.” Grimm was the Secretary of State and a close friend to the First Couple.
“I know, honey, I know,” the President said. “Let’s let the boys do their job, though.” The First Lady sat back in her seat and affixed Lifter with an impatient glare.
Of course the officers and technicians in the C-3-I (Command, Control, Communications, and Intelligence) area of NEACAP didn’t need a “few minutes” or to unstrap to do their jobs—information could flow from all points of the globe no matter how high or low NEACAP was flying—and in far less time than Lifter predicted, a report was delivered to him by an Air Force brigadier general, the chief of NEACAP’s communications section, and he reported that the battle staff was ready to speak with the President in the battle staff conference area. The President and Lifter rose and headed back to the conference room; the First Lady deftly moved herself in back of her husband and in front of Lifter as
they were led by a steward to the meeting.
The senior military officer on board NEACAP was Air Force Lieutenant General Alfred Tarentum, the fifty-seven-year-old commander of Eighth Air Force, the major command division of the U.S. Air Combat Command, from Barksdale Air Force Base, Louisiana. The chief of the NEACAP battle staff was chosen by the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Secretary of Defense based on the nature of the current world emergency, as well as by a rotation list of senior military officers; Tarentum, as commander of the Air Force’s numbered air force in charge of all bombers and attack aircraft, was the highest-ranking air power expert available for detached duty.
Because NEACAP aircraft had not been deployed on alert duty to Washington for several years (NEACAP followed the President while traveling overseas, but otherwise was rarely used since the end of the Cold War), and because Tarentum was based in Louisiana and not in Washington, the President and very few others in the White House actually knew him—this didn’t help to put anybody at ease as he began his briefing: “Mr. President, ma’am, Admiral Lifter, I’m Lieutenant General Al Tarentum, battle staff senior officer, and I have your situation report.” He did not wait or expect any other comments, but went right into his briefing:
“About twelve minutes ago, at approximately five o’clock in the afternoon Moscow time, approximately one hundred Russian bombers launched long- and short-range cruise missile and gravity bomb attacks against targets in the Ukraine, Moldova, and Romania. Some of these attacks included cruise missiles armed with low-yield nuclear warheads, what are commonly known as enhanced radiation devices or neutron bombs—”
“Excuse me, General,” the First Lady interjected, “but why did we have to evacuate Washington? Was the United States under attack as well?”
“No, ma’am,” Tarentum replied. “However, we detected and have been monitoring the deployment of Russian bombers back to bases in Cuba. These bombers are similar to the ones that attacked in Europe. Since we can’t be sure of the precise location and number of bombers along the eastern seaboard at any time, when we received notification of the nuclear release in Europe we had no choice but to evacuate the NCA.”
“The NCA,” Lifter said, “is the National Command Authority, generally meaning the President and the Secretary of Defense or their designees.”
“I know who the NCA is,” the President said, finding a glass of ice water and taking a sip. He didn’t sound nearly as irritated as his wife did—undoubtedly his stomach was causing him more consternation than events were right now. The windows on board NEACAP had been sealed shut with silver-coated shutters to block out any possible nuclear flashes.
“Then how come Mr. Grimm isn’t on board, General?” the First Lady asked pointedly.
“Ma’am, our first priority is the safety of the President,” Tarentum replied. “The chains of command are intact as long as the President is safe. If any other Cabinet members were present, they would of course be taken along.”
“We were fifteen minutes from a morning staff meeting,” she said, challenging him. “Surely the others were present or very close by.”
“Honey, let’s postpone this discussion for some other time,” the President said. “Go on, General. What else?”
“We have a call into President Velichko of Russia and President Khotin of the Ukraine,” Tarentum said. “However, both men issued statements soon after the attack.” A folder was placed before the President with a full text of the two government heads’ addresses. “President Velichko said that the attack was a response to the aggression by the Ukraine two nights ago when their fighters attacked several reconnaissance planes legally overflying the Ukraine.”
“That’s bullshit,” the President said, shaking his head. “Everyone knows those planes were Bear bombers.” He turned to Lifter, his eyes searching for confirmation.
“Absolutely, Mr. President,” Lifter acknowledged. “Armed with cruise missiles. Sources confirmed it.”
“President Khotin of the Ukraine in response declared war on Russia,” Tarentum went on, “and said he and the Ukrainian people will fight to the last man, woman, and child to keep their country free from Russian domination. There has been no further official communication from Kiev. Sources say that the central government may be evacuating the capital.”
“Where could they go?”
“The Pentagon believes they could very well go to Turkey, sir,” Tarentum replied. “As we’ve seen for several years now, relations between Turkey and the Ukraine have grown very close, possibly to the point of mutual cooperation and defense. The Pentagon has speculated that Turkey may have been accepting large quantities of Ukrainian weapons over the past several weeks to be stockpiled there in case of an invasion.”
“Excuse me, but I want to know what all this has to do with us,” the First Lady interjected. “You spirit us away in this thing like it’s the end of the world, and now we’re talking about Turkey and the Ukraine—two countries on the other side of the world, for God’s sake.” She turned to her husband and said, “I think we should put this thing on the ground at Andrews and get back to the White House immediately. We look like a bunch of chickens running around with our heads cut off.”
“As soon as we determine exactly the status of the Russian bombers in Cuba and other Russian and CIS forces in Europe and the Atlantic,” Tarentum said, not believing the balls of the Steel Magnolia. “We’ll make a determination—”
“General, my husband will make a determination, not you or anybody else,” the First Lady said.
That silenced everyone in the conference cabin. The President put a hand on his wife’s without looking at her, a silent order to calm down and take it easy, then said to Tarentum, “General, you go ahead and do your evaluation. However, I am concerned about getting back to Washington as soon as possible. Frankly, I’m concerned, like my wife is, about what it looks like if the President abandons the capital like this. The American people will start to think I’m scared, and I don’t want that. I may be able to direct military forces from up here, but I can’t be a leader flying safe and sound thirty thousand feet over everyone’s head.”
“We need to issue a press release calling this a false jump by the military,” his wife said. “Off the record, I’ll say we were nearly shanghaied into getting on board this thing—we can authorize that to get leaked to the press.”
“Let’s get the military business over with, shall we?” the President asked. “What do we need to do, General?”
“Your first decision is how to respond to the attack,” Tarentum replied, “specifically to the use of nuclear weapons by Russia. From a military standpoint we have no strategic nuclear forces available right now except for a few submarines, which I very much doubt if the Russians think we would consider using in a European conflict. This means we hold no Russian targets at risk whatsoever. If Russia decided to commence a nuclear attack in Europe or North America, our only response right now would be with six Ohio-class submarines, each carrying sixteen or twenty-four missiles, each with one warhead—a maximum of 144 warheads.”
“That’s a pretty sizable force, I’d say.”
“Yes, sir, but the question would be, does Russia think we’d employ those missiles, and would the damage they’d inflict be greater than what the Russians could do on their first attack?”
“What do the Russians have deployed right now that could reach the United States?” the President asked.
“We don’t know precisely, sir,” Tarentum replied, “but our latest estimates are based on credible forces the Russians had deployed at the time they voluntarily stood down a large percentage of their nuclear forces.” He placed another folder before the President; no one touched it. “The primary threat is from approximately two hundred road-mobile SS-25 missiles and about ninety rail-mobile SS-24 missiles. That’s almost three hundred missiles, assuming the Russians haven’t put multiple warheads on the SS-24—it can take as many as ten warheads each.
“We estimate at
least 25 percent of their sea-launched ballistic missile force has been mobilized since recent hostilities started—that’s another 250 missiles, not including the additional deployment of sub-launched SS-N-21 Sampson cruise missiles. We’ve seen as many as one hundred bombers launched in support of the attacks against targets in the Ukraine, and they’ve been carrying cruise missiles and short-range attack missiles—the Blackjack bomber can carry twelve cruise missiles each—”
“Okay, okay, I get the picture,” the President said. “Jesus, I thought the Russians were doing away with all these heavy nuclear forces. Why in the hell are we giving them billions of dollars to dismantle their nuclear forces when they still have all these forces operational?”
“Sir, as you know, final ratification of the START treaty was held up primarily because of the conflict between Russia and the Ukraine,” National Security Advisor Lifter said. “The Ukraine refused to eliminate its nuclear weapons until a defense agreement was signed with NATO—that wasn’t done until late last year.”
“I know, but we’ve been telling the American people that we’ve been doing away with Russian weapons of mass destruction, that we’ve got nothing to worry about from Russia as far as long-range nuclear weapons are concerned,” the President said. “Next thing you know, we’re up in the Doomsday Plane. How are we going to explain this?”
“Sir, let me get back to the situation at hand,” General Tarentum interjected. “I have a specific suggestion to make: implement the Joint Chiefs of Staff’s alert plan right away.” The First Lady was no longer paying attention; the President motioned for him to continue: “We can have our land-based bombers placed back on alert within twenty-four hours.” He set another folder before the President. “That comprises a force of fifty B-52G and -H bombers, approximately eighty B-1B bombers, and twenty B-2A stealth bombers. We can augment this force with F-111 or F-15E bombers if necessary. The Pentagon suggests that we not mobilize any more sea-launched or land-based missiles at this time. The bombers would represent a low-scale response to a very grave threat.”