He moved some levers. A few feet from the red blip a phosphorescent worm began to glow, became more distinct, and then broke itself into six separate blips, all black. They were diminishing the distance between themselves and the red blip at a rate which was perceptible to the human eye.
“Those are Canadian fighters. They are probably subsonic planes so they will dose the unidentified object in a half hour or so.”
“Colonel Cascio, what information do we have on the UFO?”
Colonel Cascio walked over to the machine and tore off a piece of tape. He handed it to General Bogan. It read, “UFO at Angels 30, speed 525, heading 196.”
“That means that it’s at 30,000 feet going 525 miles an hour on a compass heading of 196,” General Bogan said.
“Just suppose, General, that the planes get there right on schedule, what are they likely to find?” Raskob asked.
“Usually it is a commercial airliner that has neglected to file a flight plan or has been blown off course by high winds,” General Bogan said. “But keep in mind, sir, that there is a big blank space over the Atlantic where neither the radar sets from Europe nor America have the range to pick up planes. This wasn’t much of a problem with slow-flying planes at low altitudes, but with jets going at high speeds and altitude they can drift a couple of hundred miles while they are ‘in the gap.’ Occasionally the radar itself makes a mistake and gets a blip off the moon or a swarm of geese or gets a false echo from a satellite. But the radar mistakes have pretty well been eliminated since 1960.”
“Suppose it just looks like a commercial airliner but has actually been loaded up with thermonuclear bombs and is trying to sneak through, masquerading as a commercial plane?” Raskob asked.
“It’s possible, but not likely,” General Bogan shrugged. “The fighter pilots would raise the plane on radio and ask where it had started from and what its destination was and this would then be checked out with Federal Aviation Agency operators to make sure it was a legitimate flight. Also the fighter pilots, if they are the least suspicious, get dose enough to the plane to give it a good inspection. If there were seams and hinges that indicated a bomb bay on what looked like a DC-8 that would change the situation. Plenty.”
“What would you do in that case?” Knapp asked. “I mean that even after the fighters see the plane they still have some suspicions?”
“Probably not a great deal,” General Bogan said. “The fighter pilots would order the plane to land or to turn around and if it ignored orders then we would have a tough decision. We would probably go to Condition Yellow and would start to launch more fighters and also bring up some of the bombers to a higher degree of readiness. But just a single unidentified plane by itself, still over a thousand miles from any Canadian or American city, doesn’t constitute a very great danger. Any conceivable enemy would be launching a number of planes at us. What we would do is make sure that the single plane did not have a runaway pilot who wanted to commit hara-kiri on New York or Montreal.”
“General, can you add the SAC bombers that are flying toward their Fail-Safe point to the board?” Raskob asked.
“Yes, sir,” General Bogan said. He nodded at Colonel Cascio. Colonel Cascio started to move some levers. “What you will see is a fuller projection of the Northern Hemisphere. It’s something like looking down at the earth from directly above the North Pole and at an altitude of about one hundred miles.”
Again there was a slow dissolve on the Big Board. When it had firmed up, the longitude lines came together at a neat point in the center of the board. The unidentified flying object and the six fighters were now tiny and because the scale was much greater they were closing at what seemed a much slower pace. Six large green blips, fragmented into small dots of luminosity, swam into clear visibility. Even to the unaccustomed eyes of Raskob and Knapp it was dear that these blips were moving at a much higher speed than either the fighters or the unidentified flying object. Each of the green fragmented blips was moving toward a green cross which in each case was well outside the Soviet boundaries, but which formed a rough circle around her borders.
“As you can see, the bombers are moving much faster than either the fighters or the UFO,” Colonel Cascio said. “Those are Vindicator Bombers and they fly at over 1500 miles an hour. You also notice that some of them, such as the group based on Okinawa, can get to their Fail-Safe point very quickly so they jink around a good deal. The idea is to have all of the planes arrive at the Fail-Safe point at the same moment. The one which has the farthest distance to travel is Group Six, which is the one over the Bering Strait. As you can see, it is moving fast and straight toward the green cross over St. Matthew Island, which is just about at longitude 80 degrees. That is its Fail-Safe point.”
“Seven minutes to Fail-Safe,” a loud dear voice suddenly said in words that could be heard throughout the whole War Room. It was a tape-recorded voice that was geared to one of the calculating machines.
“That is a recorded voice and it goes on automatically at seven minutes and starts a countdown,” General Bogan said. “It is very unlikely that the planes will actually get to the Fail-Safe point. That happens very rarely. Usually the UFO or the radar disturbance is identified well before the bombers get to the Fail-Safe point. When that happens we simply raise the Vindicators on a predetermined radio frequency and order them back to their bases, or to a refueling point. I would say that in only one in twenty Conditions Blue do the planes reach the Fail-Safe point.”
“But assume that they reach the Fail-Safe point and the unidentified object is still unidentified, then what?” Raskob asked.
“Just one helluva lot,” Knapp said unexpectedly.
All three of the men looked at him.
“Mr. Knapp’s firm manufactures some of the equipment that goes into operation at that point,” General Bogan explained. “The first thing that happens is that automatically we go to Condition Yellow. Even if the situation has not changed materially, the passage of time constitutes a danger. Secondly, a number of supporting light jet bombers equipped with defensive gear and groups of fighter planes would start to fly toward the Fail-Safe point in support of the entire operation.”
“Six minutes to Fail-Safe,” the mechanical voice said.
One of the doors in the side of the War Room opened and four officers walked in and sat down at various desk-consoles.
“Actually you are seeing a pretty unusual Condition Blue,” General Bogan said. “Usually we have the situation analyzed and solved well before this. Just as a precaution, once we get to six minutes to Fail-Safe we start to man the various machines in the War Room.”
Both General Bogan and Colonel Cascio were looking steadily at the UFO. The two blips seemed almost to have merged. For a few seconds the larger fragmented blip of the fighter plane obscured the blip of the UFO. General Bogan nodded his head at Colonel Cascio. Colonel Cascio walked to a machine and pulled off a piece of tape. He handed it to General Bogan.
At this moment the UFO disappeared from the screen.
“The unidentified object is now over the Nenieux Islands off Baffin Bay,” General Bogan read. “The UFO is losing altitude rapidly. Our fighters overflew and are now making a visual search. No visual contact as yet. The radar signal is erratic.”
“Five minutes to Fail-Safe,” the mechanical voice said. “From now until Fail-Safe, time will be given in half minutes.”
“General, what the hell happened to that thing?” Raskob asked. “It’s gone.”
“Colonel Cascio, let’s go to Condition Yellow,” General Bogan said briskly.
Raskob and Knapp both swung about and stared at General Bogan. He did not take his eyes from the Big Board.
“There is nothing to worry about, gentlemen, this is fairly orthodox,” General Bogan said. “The UFO is not acting in the characteristic way and I have the option to go to Condition Yellow. I have taken that option, because the UFO has dropped from 30,000 feet and disappeared in the grass. ‘Grass’ is the fuzz at the
bottom of a radarscope which is caused by interference from hills, some inherent defect in the tubes, and other things we don’t quite understand. But once the plane is ‘in the grass’ it is lost to radar. It may be a plane with mechanical trouble about to crash, but it is conceivable that it is an enemy plane taking evasive action.”
General Bogan turned and looked at the two visitors. Both of them had a look which he had come to recognize. It was a look compounded of excitement, horror, and malice. It was not a pleasant look to see, but General Bogan had learned long ago that even for experienced airmen there was a morbid fascination with plane crashes.
“Four and one-half minutes to Fail-Safe,” the voice said.
On the Big Board the six Vindicator blips were drawing close to the Fail-Safe crosses. It was an elegant maneuver, possessing all of the grace of ballet dancers positioning themselves on a stage. Each group was precisely the same distance from its Fail-Safe point and each was now moving at maximum speed.
“Four minutes to Fail-Safe.”
One of the desk-consoles started to chatter. A major tore off the tape and handed it to General Bogan. He did not even have to think about the words.
“Go to Condition Green,” General Bogan barked. “And project the light bombers, the Skyscraper support, and the jet tankers on the Big Board.”
“What the hell—” Raskob started to say, but stopped in mid-sentence as General Bogan raised his hand.
The light over the Big Board went green. There was a sharp, piercing klaxon sound that cut through the room. Doors began to open and in thirty seconds every desk-console in the room was manned.
“Three and a half minutes to Fail-Safe,” the voice went on relentlessly.
Strange shapes were blossoming all over the Big Board. Behind each of the Vindicator groups appeared a large single blip. These were air-borne tankers. Two fragmented blips appeared on the port and starboard quarter of the Vindicators and began to angle toward them. These were the support fighters which are always activated in a Fail-Safe maneuver but which had not been projected on the Big Board until that moment.
Colonel Cascio quickly explained the situation to the two visitors, but without taking his eye from the board.
“Three minutes to Fail-Safe.”
“Can you tell us why you went to Condition Green?” Knapp asked, in a whisper.
“No, sir, I cannot tell you, for the reason which I gave earlier,” General Bogan said without looking at them. His voice was flat and imperative. “Colonel Cascio, will you come with me to the 413-L desk?”
He looked at Raskob and Knapp as he turned, felt an impulse to explain, and then felt a sudden pressure of anxiety.
When they reached the desk General Bogan handed the slip of paper to Colonel Cascio. It said, “Extended DEW Line Station No. 4.6 on UFO. Some atmospheric interference, but UFO is not air-breathing vehicle.”
“Two and a half minutes to Fail-Safe,” the mechanical voice said. Now the voice was not as loud, for the dozens of machines in the room gave off a low collective hum which toned down its harsh clarity.
“Not an air-breather?” Colonel Cascio asked. There was awe in his voice. Colonel Cascio turned to the officer at the desk and said, “Try to get DEW Line No. 4.6 and see if they have any dope on the conformation of the UFO.”
The officer repeated the order but even as he spoke his fingers were adjusting dials and levers. A line of three green lights went on.
“Two minutes to Fail-Safe.”
“If it is riot an air-breather,” General Bogan said slowly, “it might be a commercial plane which has lost power on all four engines. It would not give off enough air turbulence for even the DEW system’s new turbulence detectors to be able to pick up.”
“One and a half minutes to Fail-Safe.”
“If it is a commercial plane that has lost power, we’ll know the answer right away,” Colonel Cascio said. “A pilot can stretch a flight with dead engines only just so far and then he’ll have to crash. If the blip disappears we can assume that it is a commercial plane that crashed with all engines dead.”
General Bogan stared at Colonel Cascio for a moment. “Not necessarily,” he said evenly. “Get those two visitors out of here.”
Colonel Cascio moved toward Knapp and Raskob with an animal-like speed. He spoke to them quickly. Raskob’s voice was raised in protest. At once General Bogan moved toward him.
“Now look here, God damn it, General, if we are going to go to war our lives are as involved as yours and I want to know all about it,” Raskob said.
“Who said anything about going to war?” General Bogan asked. Suddenly his voice had a whiplike quality. “Colonel Cascio ordered you out of this room and that was my order he was carrying out.”
“One minute to Fail-Safe.”
Raskob had spread his feet. He had a pyramidal, fundamental, ferocious look about him. General Bogan realized instantly that here was a man used to fighting.
“Don’t try that crap on me, General,” Raskob said. “As I read the situation right now we are one minute from going to war and either I am going to get the hell out of here and back to my family in New York or I am going to stay right here and see what happens. The one thing I am not going to do is let you put me off in a toilet or one of these little cells of yours. Not without a fight. I mean that, General.”
“One-half minute to Fail-Safe,” the voice said. “Count down will now be by seconds. Twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three…”
General Bogan looked at Raskob and knew that he could not get the man out of the room without a fight. There were other things to do. He turned away and spoke to Colonel Cascio.
“It might not be a commercial plane on a crash angle,” he said. “It might be an enemy mocked-up rocket plane which faked a flame-out on all four jet engines and then when it got below 500 feet it would be below the effective range of our radar and come in low.”
A look of pain went across Colonel Cascio’s face.
“You are right, General,” Colonel Cascio said. “It is a possibility.”
General Bogan realized suddenly that the look of pain was on Cascio’s face because he had ignored a point of logic and not because of the situation.
“Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…”
The teletype on the 41 3-L desk started to datter. The officer in charge of the desk leaned back, away from the tape, so that the other two men could have a dear view of it. The tape came Out at the normal speed but to General Bogan it seemed to emerge with deliberate slowness.
“UFO has conformation of Boeing 707 but ‘grass’ obscures total impression,” the tape said. “Operators state that despite interference UFO had normal 707 conformation.”
“Eight, seven, six, five…”
On the Big Board the six bomber groups were at the very edge of converging with the green crosses which marked their Fail-Safe points. Each of them was exactly the same distance from its green cross. But the distance was tiny. The blip of the UFO was now invisible although occasionally it glowed and then disappeared. In countless war games General Bogan had seen fighters and even heavy bombers come in so low and fast, jinking, weaving, taking advantage of every copse of trees and every low hill, and managing to evade the mechanical eye of the radar for hundreds of miles.
By a deliberate act of will, as deliberately as uncurling a fist into a hand, General Bogan made himself relax. Even so he felt a single drop of sweat, acid from tension, roll slowly down his spine. It did not feel like sweat. It felt like a tiny solid hot piece of shot.
He had gotten to the Fail-Safe point before but General Bogan had never had a UFO which acted in such a strange way. As he looked at the board three things happened. The mechanical voice said, “All groups at Fail-Safe point.” And the six bomber blips simultaneously and beautifully merged with their green crosses.
The teletype on the 41 3-L desk began to clatter again. General Bogan’s head turned about. As it did he saw the faces of Knapp and Raskob. Raskob’s jaw was
set. His eyes were unafraid. His shrewd, intelligent face understood perfectly what was happening. Knapp seemed mesmerized by the machinery. General Bogan had the impression that he did not realize what was happening. The words came, again at an excruciatingly slow pace, out of the 413-L machine. They said, “UFO is now at 1,050 feet and is dearly air-breathing vehicle. Best estimate is that it is BOAC, Commercial Boeing 707, which has regained power on two of its jets.”
“It’s all right, Colonel Cascio,” General Bogan said. “It didn’t make much sense anyway, because if they did come they surely would come with more than a single plane. Let the Vindicators orbit at their FaBSafe point, however, until we get a positive confirmation from the Canadian fighters.”
Colonel Cascio stood up and, although his face was smiling, his pink tongue licked at the corner of his mouth.
“General, they’ll orbit whatever we do,” he said, “it’s SOP. But I’m still not sure about that UFO. Couldn’t the Russians anticipate exactly the way we would interpret it and just add a couple of jet pods to the mocked-up plane and turn them on when they get within range of 4l3-L System?” out of the room. The hum of the machines diminished.
It was Raskob who first noticed. He stared at the Big Board for a moment and turned to General Bogan with a grin.
“Now what the hell is that blip up there at No. 6 doing?” he said. “It’s gone right by the Fail-Safe point and is moving toward Russia.”
General Bogan spun around, his elbow lashed into the taut nervous body of Knapp and he was quite unaware of it. He stared at the board, his body suddenly felt like a terrible tortured muscle. His mind was white-hot and utterly blank. It perceived only one thing. Group 6 had flown past its Fail-Safe point. He spoke out of the side of his mouth, suddenly and comically aware of how much like a movie character he seemed.
“Colonel Cascio, get on the red telephone to the President,” General Bogan said, in a firm low unnatural voice.
As he handed General Bogan the red telephone Colonel Cascio picked up the Red Phone Log. He glanced at the clock on the wall and wrote down “1030.”
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