by Dale Brown
“A nuclear attack?”
“My answer to that, sir, is ‘why not?’ “ Freeman replied. “Why wouldn’t they use those neutron warheads against Turkey, like they did in the Ukraine?”
“Because we’d blow their shit away and they know it!” Grimm retorted.
“General, be realistic,” the First Lady said wearily. “The Russians would not dare to use any more nuclear weapons, especially against a NATO ally. That would be suicide.”
“Would it, sir? Would it, ma’am?” Freeman asked. “What exactly would you do if the Russians attacked Turkey? Send in the bombers? Sir, we have not demonstrated the resolve to do anything, let alone stage a thermonuclear attack on a Russian target. The attack on the Russian ships in the Black Sea was a fluke, a lucky shot, and we only had six aircraft involved in the operation—the Ukrainians had over a hundred. The Russians have used nuclear weapons on multiple targets in the Ukraine, along with destroying several Turkish warships, and you have not had one meaningful conversation with President Velichko of Russia or made any sort of equivalent response.”
The First Lady rose to her feet and said icily, “I advise you to watch your tone of voice, General.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying, ma’am, and it’s my job to say it,” Freeman shot back. “We deployed virtually no forces overseas, we did not mobilize any additional Reserve forces, and we did not federalize any forces except the ones who would go on strategic alert. The entire Western World thinks we’ve abandoned them, sir.”
“That’s bullshit, Freeman, and you know it,” Grimm retorted with a snort, looking to the First Lady for support.
“Their neutron weapon is a powerful terror tool, sir,” National Security Director Lifter said. “They can set off a nuclear device and actually control the casualties they want to inflict—but it’s not a weapon of mass destruction, per se. Over a populated area it can kill tremendous numbers—but over a nonpopulated area, it will do little or no damage.”
“Mr. President, killing ten thousand persons by neutron bomb or by high-explosive bombs doesn’t make any bit of difference to me,” Freeman said, “and it obviously doesn’t make any difference to the Russian military or government. In fact, it’s a cost-effective and very efficient weapon.”
“You sound like some kind of Dr. Frankenstein,” the First Lady snapped. “The end justifies the means, is that right, General? Do whatever it takes to get the job done?”
“There’s no bad way to kill,” Freeman said. “Or any good way to die. There’s just killing and death.”
The First Lady rolled her eyes in disbelief. “I think that’s nonsense too,” the President said, popping more Fritos into his mouth along with a few Tagamets. “This is almost the twenty-first century, Philip. Modern-day wars must be fought with restraint and carefully controlled escalation, with stops and checks and pauses put in to encourage the conflict to end and diplomacy to begin again. We’re not trigger-happy, for God’s sake. We have the weapons and the technology to destroy with precision and strength without resorting to nuclear weapons. Besides, Velichko or some other wacko in Moscow probably’s got his finger on the button night and day—we let loose with a nuke of our own, and the whole world goes up in smoke.”
“That’s a myth, Mr. President,” Freeman said. “We’ve learned that a lot of the ideas we had about nuclear warfighting just don’t hold true.”
“Like what, General?” asked the First Lady skeptically.
“Like the idea that a finger is poised over a button in Russia someplace, and at the first sign of attack, the whole world is a goner,” Freeman replied. “In fact, it takes three persons in Russia—the President, the Minister of Defense, and the Chief of the General Staff—to order a nuclear attack, and only one person to stop it; in our country, of course, it only takes one to start it, but many persons can stop it and it can even stop itself, with our system of built-in termination and fail-safes. And this assumes that the Russians can in fact detect a launch or even an impact: we’ve learned that Russian surveillance satellites and other long-range detection systems aren’t as good as we once thought, to the point that a nuclear detonation in Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, or Siberia might go completely unnoticed.”
“What’s your point, General?” the President asked impatiently.
“The point is, sir, is that wars aren’t started or stopped quickly, especially nuclear wars. Russia knows we’re ready to fight a nuclear war, sir, and even though we don’t have very many weapons on-line, the ones we have are devastating. Velichko isn’t insane, no matter what Sen’kov or The New York Times says. He would do the same as you’re doing right now, sir—meet with his advisers, discuss a plan of action, then proceed. He serves a constituency too.”
“Yeah—a constituency of other hard-line neo-Communist wackos.” But the President was silent for a moment; then: “So let’s assume they attack both the Ukraine and Turkey, and even use more nuclear weapons—maybe even full-yield weapons. What then?”
“That’s the question I’m posing to you, sir,” Freeman said. “What’s our priority? What’s your goal? What kind of role do you want to play? Do you want to protect a NATO ally, or punish Russia, or both? Do you want to wait and see or do you want to act?”
“Every time you say that, General, I want to bust you in the face,” the First Lady suddenly exploded, “and I consider it my job to say it. You make it sound like a cautious, wait-and-see attitude is wrong. You make it seem as if action—and I read that as war, pure violence—is the only response you’ll accept.”
“Ma’am, I’m paid to give my professional opinion, based on the information I have and my knowledge and experience.” Freeman sighed. “The President can take my advice, adopt it, reject it, fire me, or hire someone else. If he tells me to jump, I’ll salute and ask ‘How high?’ but I’ll also give him my thoughts and opinions on the way up and on the way down.”
“I think you need to step back and reevaluate your priorities here, General,” she replied coldly, glaring at her husband as if to say, We’ve got to get rid of him.
“I didn’t start this conflict, ma’am, and I didn’t set the limits. But we’ve got two dead U.S. airmen now, and an important ally that, I feel, is going to get nailed any minute now. We need to formulate a plan.” He turned to the President and concluded earnestly, “I’ll do whatever you want, sir. I’m on your team. Just tell me what you want to do.”
The phone rang again and the President shook his head. The Chief of Staff answered it, then put the caller on hold. “Sir, it’s Valentin Sen’kov, calling from Moscow.”
“Tell him to call back later.”
“He says it’s urgent.”
The President was going to refuse again, but this time the First Lady reached over and took the phone. “Dobriy vyechyeer, Valentin. Kak dyela?” She listened for a moment, then turned on the speakerphone and set the receiver back on its cradle. “I’ve got you on speaker-phone with the President and some members of his staff, Valentin. Go ahead and repeat what you just told me.”
“Dear,” the President said irritably, “what in hell do you think you’re doing?” Along with feeling as if he were being pulled apart by the flurry of voices and activity around him, adding the pompous Sen’kov’s voice to the soup wasn’t going to help. He also didn’t like his wife’s growing proficiency in Russian, especially when Sen’kov was involved.
“I am very sorry to disturb you, Mr. President,” Sen’kov said on the speakerphone, “but I feel this is very urgent. I know you just called President Velichko. I must inform you that Velichko is no longer in Moscow. He is on the underground railway to the alternate military command center at Domodedovo.”
“What?”
“Why is he doing that, Valentin?” the First Lady asked. “We’re not doing anything here. We don’t have any operations planned against Russia.”
“Ma’am, please,” Freeman admonished her. “That’s an open line!” She ignored him.
“I do not h
ave precise information, sir,” Sen’kov continued, “but I believe he has evacuated the Kremlin. He is very disturbed about the attacks over the Black Sea, and I fear he might retaliate immediately.”
“Retaliate? How? When?”
“I do not know,” Sen’kov said. “I cannot talk longer, sir. But I must say this: Velichko is unstable. The military will follow him, but they are ambivalent and are simply looking for leadership. They will follow Velichko into Hell … or they will follow me into true reform and progress. Mr. President, I am asking for your assistance. I know precisely where Velichko will be thirty minutes from now. I am sure your CIA has detailed information on Domodedovo. You have bombers in Turkey, cruise missile submarines in the Aegean and Mediterranean, and intercontinental ballistic missiles. Destroy Domodedovo. Kill Velichko before he starts World War Three.”
“Sen’kov, are you insane?” the President retorted. “I’m not about to use nuclear weapons to kill the leader of a nation.”
“I am sorry, Mr. President, I can speak no more,” Sen’kov said. “I will be in contact with you later,” and the line went dead.
The President and his advisers looked at the telephone with stunned expressions, as if the device had just come alive and was squirming on the desk. Finally, after a long silence, the President’s advisers began to speak. Harlan Grimm said, “He’s totally out of line, Mr. President.”
“I don’t think that’s a viable option, sir,” Scheer said. “It’s totally out of character for an American president to specifically target a national leader.”
“I think it’s the first good suggestion I’ve heard in days,” Philip Freeman said.
“General Freeman, are you insane or just having some kind of a nervous breakdown?” the First Lady asked. “Are you trying to be funny? The man just suggested that we try to assassinate Velichko with a nuclear bomb.”
“I can’t think of a better thing to do, a better weapon to use, and a more rotten person to use it on,” Freeman said. To the President he said, “Sir, we had a great victory in Desert Storm, but we suffered one major defeat—we missed Saddam Hussein. That decision, although it seemed appropriate and right and moral then, we now regard as a major mistake. Saddam cost this country a lot when he rose up again two years ago.
“Vitaly Velichko will do the same thing. I truly believe that Velichko will not stop until he precipitates a third world war, or until NATO knuckles under and allows him to take the Ukraine, the Baltic States, and Georgia back under Russian rule. He has used nuclear weapons, and I truly believe he will continue to do so. If we target Velichko now in his bunker in Domodedovo, we’ll get him and kill perhaps a few thousand more.”
“And risk a massive nuclear retaliation by the Russians,” the First Lady declared, her eyes burning on Freeman.
“Not in my opinion, ma’am,” Freeman said. “If we get Velichko and members of his cabinet and the military command, and get the codes, no attack will take place. If Sen’kov really can take control of the government and the military—and I think he can—he might be able to head off any kind of nuclear retaliation. But if we don’t do it, Velichko will continue to escalate the conflict, hoping we’ll back down. Ultimately we’ll be forced into a corner and have to resort to a massive nuclear attack on Russia to make the conflict stop. Instead of stopping the conflict after killing only a few thousand—far less than the Ukraine has already suffered—hundreds of millions might die in an all-out nuclear exchange.”
The President rubbed his eyes wearily as the First Lady and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff shot glares at each other. After several long moments, the President opened a red-covered folder on his desk—it was the Pentagon’s joint analysis of the progression of the conflict and a list of recommended military options. “Tell us what you’re thinking, Mr. President,” Secretary of State Harlan Grimm said.
“I want …” the President began, swallowed, took a deep breath, and wondered how in the hell history would judge him for what he was about to do. This was the most critical event of his Administration so far. The people of the country had short memories, but history did not. He had gotten into politics and run for office because he’d wanted to put his stamp on America. He had run for President and won against all odds because he’d wanted to shake things up after the complacent four years of George Bush and the eight years of Ronald Reagan’s Armageddon view of reality concerning what the American military really needed. But he had never, never been pushed to the wall like this. And history was waiting, calling him to respond as so many presidents had been forced to do before him … from Truman to Kennedy to Reagan to Bush. “I want this fucking war to stop, right now,” the President continued. “I want Russia to immediately cease all overflights and patrols threatening our allies. I want Russia to immediately begin a pullback of all ground forces out of the Ukraine and Moldova. I want Russia to immediately withdraw their Black Sea warships to Russian ports—”
“And if they don’t, Mr. President?”
“If they don’t, then I’ll—” He looked as if he were on the verge of exploding or totally breaking down—Freeman couldn’t tell. “If they don’t, we will attack and destroy a military target in Russia.”
“What?” gasped the First Lady, horrified.
“The General’s right,” the President told her. “We’ve acted with restraint, and all we’ve gotten is more violence. I don’t see an end to it unless we act, unless we answer force with force. I’m not playing the peacemaker anymore. I tried it in the Islamic Wars, and it took the Turks to bail me out. I tried it in Yugoslavia, and Germany bailed me out. So far in this fight, Turkey’s bailed me out again. I’m not sitting back any longer.
“I will take the fight to Russia—no economic sanctions, no negotiations, no screwing with words while more American airmen get killed, no more Hot Line phone calls where the asshole hangs up on me. The Russian people will find out what it’s like to get nuked, to see loved ones die of radiation poisoning, to watch the skies and wonder if the next plane will drop a neutron bomb on their house and destroy everything. I will launch a nuclear bomber attack into Russia against a military target and obliterate it. I will send the stealth bombers into Russia and destroy a military base. I am going to end this damned war or I will carry it through to the fucking end!”
There was no sound in the Oval Office for several long moments, except for the sound of the President’s deep breathing and the sound of the First Lady pacing back and forth after she’d gotten up. “All right, General,” the President said resignedly. “I want a plan to destroy this bunker—this Domodedovo airport. How soon can you have something to show me?”
“Preliminary assessment within the hour, Mr. President,” Freeman said, still amazed the President capitulated. “A detailed briefing ready to present to the leadership and the Alliance in three … no, two hours.”
“I want it surgically done, with as little collateral damage as possible,” the President ordered. “Do we have any of those low-yield things the Russians use?”
“Even if we did, it wouldn’t work against the bunker, sir,” Freeman said. “The neutron radiation can’t penetrate through more than eighteen inches of concrete—the bunker probably has more than eighteen feet of concrete, if it’s anything like Strategic Command headquarters or the NMCC. We have to dig it out, and that means at least twenty kilotons and a direct hit, with an airburst fuzing height of no more than five thousand feet.”
“I don’t believe what I’m hearing,” the First Lady gasped. Over the sudden hubbub of voices the phone rang again, and the Chief of Staff picked it up. “I can’t believe I’m actually witnessing the planning of a nuclear attack against Russia.” The President took the phone from his Chief of Staff when it was held out to him. He listened for a few moments, then handed it back.
“Looks like we’re going to need that plan, General Freeman. There’s been a Russian cruise missile attack in Turkey. Ataturk International Airport in Istanbul and the Golcuk naval base we
re hit.”
“Any nuclear weapons used, sir?”
There was a long pause. The President lowered his head and took a deep breath. “Both targets,” the President said. “Subatomic warheads, exploded at ten thousand feet.”
“My God,” Scheer said. “I can’t believe it… the Russians actually dared to launch another nuclear attack.”
“The loss of life may be low,” Freeman offered quickly, shocked at how depressed and stricken the President appeared right now—he looked as if he might be on the verge of tears or a violent outburst. “The Turks dispersed the fleet based at Golcuk days ago. The facility is large but fairly isolated, in very rugged terrain, so neutron radiation would be isolated to the local area. The nearest city is ten miles away, out of the hazard radius for a neutron device, and it’s small. As far as Istanbul-Ataturk International, it was closed to commercial traffic when the Russians attacked the Turkish Navy, so there would be just a skeleton military security team there. The city is close, about three to four miles northeast, but it would probably not be affected—the danger radius of the weapons the Russians exploded in the Ukraine was only one to two miles. The Russians picked their target well, sir—maximum shock value but very low loss of life.”
The President clung to that bit of news and actually seemed to appear relieved. He clasped his wife’s hand, who had now gone over to his side, and looked at her stunned face with concern. “It’ll be all right, honey,” he said in a low voice. “Everything will be all right.”
“Sir, perhaps you should think about evacuating Washington,” Freeman said. “A flight of Russian cruise missiles launched from a submarine can devastate this city.”
“No way,” the President said resolutely. “I left once before, and it was the worst embarrassment of my life. I will consider sending the Vice President and other Cabinet members out of town—but I’m not leaving.