Dr. Strangelove

by Peter George

  ‘Mister Ambassador, you are choosing to misunderstand.’

  ‘Understand? Understand? I understand only too well. Who could fail to understand such a clumsy trick? A trick! At the expense of the peace-loving people of the Soviet Union. One… last... gigantic... trick!’

  ‘Anger will not help us now, Mister Ambassador.’

  ‘Nothing will help you now, Mister President! We are not fooled by this fantastic lie! I am not fooled, and the Premier will not be fooled! We are not such fools as you may think, Mister President!’

  President Muffley looked at De Sadeski in silence for a moment. He had known him for several years and knew also that De Sadeski was highly regarded by the power elite in the Kremlin. He gave a pre-arranged signal to one of his aides who hastened to the drinks table.

  The President said, ‘Mister Ambassador, I have always had the greatest respect for your intelligence, for your shrewd judgment of character, and for your coolness and ability to handle a crisis. When I speak to the Premier, we must be able to authenticate what I tell him. Your presence here is perhaps the single most important hope we have to prevent a complete and final catastrophe, because you will be able to supply this authentication. That is why I brought you here and why I revealed our classified and highly guarded procedures.’

  De Sadeski sighed, but said nothing for a moment. He pondered the implications of the President’s speech, looked up at the huge displays, and decided that at least it could do no harm to remain in this room while he had the opportunity. He respected the President’s intelligence, if not his beliefs, and he was prepared to spend some time in finding out exactly what was in the President’s mind and any other information he might acquire for later use.

  The aide arrived bearing a silver tray on which stood a bottle of vodka and several full glasses. He offered the tray to De Sadeski. ‘Here you are, sir.’

  De Sadeski reached automatically for a glass, lifted it to his lips, then abruptly lowered it onto the table. He looked directly at the President. He said slowly and suspiciously, ‘You wouldn’t put anything in it?’

  The President did not bother to answer. He reached across, took the glass, and downed the shot of vodka in one gulp.

  De Sadeski said, ‘Pardon me, but you will understand that I cannot be too cautious.’

  President Muffley breathed deeply, both to counteract the impact of the vodka and to keep a tight rein on his feelings. ‘Perhaps,’ he said stiffly, ‘this unfounded suspicion will better allow you to realise that your other suspicions are equally unfounded.’

  De Sadeski said nothing but reached for another glass and downed the liquor like water. Then he smacked his lips and nodded in appreciation.

  The President relaxed in his chair. He said quietly, ‘Won’t you have something to eat now? You must be feeling hungry and we may have a long wait down here.’

  The Ambassador considered the matter for a moment. He glanced across at the large and appetising collection of food he could see on the long table. He was certainly feeling hungry, but at the same time considered that he ought not be too conciliatory. Finally he said, ‘Very well.’

  The aide was instantly at his elbow. He said deferentially, ‘Follow me, sir.’

  The Ambassador followed the aide to the long table. He walked up and down examining the display of food. There were dishes of all kinds, hot trays, cold cuts, and a profuse variety of drinks, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic. De Sadeski detected one item of food that was not there. He asked for it, ‘You don’t have any fresh fish?’

  The aide was embarrassed. He looked hastily along the table. ‘I’m afraid not, sir.’

  De Sadeski felt pleased with the point he had made. Now he could relax a little. He said, ‘Your eggs, then, they’re fresh?’

  ‘Naturally, sir.’

  ‘Then I will have poached eggs. And bring me some cigars, please – Havana cigars of course.’

  Admiral Randolph had moved up close to De Sadeski and the aide. Now he produced a large and ornate cigar case which he offered to the Ambassador. ‘Try one of these Jamaican cigars, Mister Ambassador. I think you’ll find they’re pretty good.’

  De Sadeski ignored the case. He said coldly, ‘Thank you, no. I do not support the work of imperialist stooges.’

  Admiral Randolph stared at him in surprise. He snapped the case shut and turned away from De Sadeski, speaking over his shoulder as he went. ‘Only commie stoogies, huh?’

  De Sadeski’s face was impressive. He watched Randolph walk up to another officer, and heard him say, ‘Well, what the hell, Ed! Offer a guy a smoke and the lousy sonofa...’

  De Sadeski heard no more, as the two officers walked away together to examine closely the display on which the deployment of Russian submarines was indicated. They were more numerous now as fresh detections were reported and flashed on to the display.

  De Sadeski also examined the display thoughtfully. He glanced quickly round the room and saw that nobody seemed to be watching him. The aide was busy at the table, filling the order for poached eggs.

  Some distance away from De Sadeski, General Buck Turgidson was speaking angrily to the President. Turgidson had overheard the conversation between the ambassador and Admiral Randolph. He was saying, ‘Mister President, you gonna let that lousy commie punk vomit all over us that way?’

  President Muffley had been annoyed by De Sadeski’s remark. But unlike Turgidson he had the ability to repress his annoyance. He needed De Sadeski, and he also needed Turgidson, if they were to get some satisfactory answer to this mess. He said, ‘Look Buck, I know how you feel. How do you think I like it? Now cool off, there’s a helluva lot riding on this phone call. Okay?’

  ‘If you say so, sir.’

  ‘Good boy, Buck.’

  Turgidson turned away and picked up one of his telephones. He began to speak into it rapidly, at the same time noting that on the main display of the Big Board the bomber tracks had progressed farther toward their target. His crew-cut head bobbed vigorously as he emphasised a point. He was in fact talking to SAC, letting his old friend in command there know his feelings about the Russian Ambassador.

  The President called Staines to his side. He said sharply, ‘What’s taking so long on that call to Premier Kissof?’

  Staines said, ‘Mister President, we haven’t been able to reach him at the Kremlin. They say they don’t know where he is, and he isn’t expected back for another two hours.’

  ‘Did you tell them what I told you?’

  ‘I was hoping it would not be necessary, sir.’

  Ambassador De Sadeski had moved up to them as they talked. He broke into the conversation. ‘You are having trouble reaching the Premier?’

  ‘Yes, we are, Ambassador.’

  ‘On Saturday afternoon his office will not know where to find him. Try eighty-seven, forty-six, fifty-six, Moscow.’

  President Muffley said quickly, ‘Did you get that, Staines?’ He waited for Staines to repeat the numbers then continued, ‘Get on to it right now.’

  Staines walked quickly away. The President said, ‘Thank you very much, Ambassador.’

  De Sadeski rubbed his fingers along the side of his nose. He said quietly but emphatically, ‘You will note that I recalled that number from memory, Mister President. I emphasise this because of what I said earlier about chess. You understand the importance of memory to the chess master?’

  President Muffley inclined his head. ‘You have indeed an impressive memory, Ambassador.’

  ‘Thank you, Mister President.’ De Sadeski paused for a moment to consider whether he ought to go on with what he had intended to say. On balance, he thought so. It was important, he felt, to convey clearly to the President that the Russian Premier shared the normal human emotions of people everywhere. He said, ‘You would never have found him through his office, of course. Our Premier is a man of the people. He is also a man, a man of affairs, if you follow my meaning.’

  Turgidson had replaced his telephone in time to
hear what De Sadeski was saying. He turned to the officer on his right and said, ‘Degenerate, atheistic commie!’

  De Sadeski overheard Turgidson’s remark. He said furiously to the President, ‘I formally request that you have this... this... checker-player removed from the War Room.’

  President Muffley suppressed a groan. The situation was already highly explosive. But the obvious antagonism between Turgidson and the Ambassador was making it even more dangerous. He rapped a pencil down on the table and said sternly to Turgidson, ‘General, the Soviet Ambassador is here as my guest and is to be treated as such. You understand me?’

  Turgidson’s face was livid with anger. He was furious that the President should take the side of a lousy commie, even if he was their Ambassador, against himself. But the President by nature of his office was constitutionally Turgidson’s Commander-in-Chief. It took a great effort, but he said, ‘If you say so, Mister President,’ and again picked up a telephone into which he began to talk rapidly.

  The President became aware that Staines was signalling to him. He looked up in inquiry.

  ‘Mister President, they’re trying the number now.’

  The President rose to his feet and walked toward Staines.

  Suddenly, before he had reached Staines’s side, there was a tremendous commotion behind him. He swung around.

  General Turgidson and Ambassador De Sadeski were grappling wildly on the floor, their limbs threshing and flailing as they fought, bumping into furnishings and knocking over a small table with a crash.

  President Muffley hastily went toward them. He shouted, ‘Gentlemen! For the love of God! What’s the meaning of this?’

  Other officers had now approached the two struggling men. They saw the President’s agitation and several of them physically separated the combatants, afterward helping them to their feet.

  De Sadeski shrugged off the officers who had assisted him and immediately assumed a karate stance. He was puffing but defiant as he said, ‘So, General! You had not tasted karate before, eh?’

  General Buck Turgidson clenched his fists. He said, ‘Why you commie punk, I’ll knock that commie head right off your lousy commie neck.’

  President Muffley stepped between the two men.

  De Sadeski did not relax his posture. He said, ‘Mister President, my Government shall hear of this personal attack and this attempt to discredit its Ambassador.’

  President Muffley said sharply, ‘Gentlemen, I demand an explanation!’

  De Sadeski pointed. ‘You will find an explanation, Mister President, concealed in the right hand of this war-mongering bully.’

  Turgidson grinned. His face had a triumphant expression as he extended his hand toward the President. ‘You’re not kidding there, Mister Commie. Here is the explanation, Mister President, in full!’

  He opened his fist to reveal a tiny spy camera, which had been disguised as a cigarette lighter. He went on. ‘This commie rat was using this thing to take pictures of the Big Board, and that is the explanation.’

  Ambassador De Sadeski said coldly, ‘Mister President, this clumsy fool tried to plant that ridiculous camera on me, actually tried to plant it! He tried to put it into my coat pocket, but a taste of karate changed his mind. That is the explanation.’

  Turgidson burst out, ‘That’s a damned lie. I saw him with my own eyes.’

  De Sadeski shrugged his shoulders. He turned to the President, pointed to his torn side pocket and said, ‘Here is the evidence, look. He tried to plant it, but my karate sent him flying.’

  Turgidson’s fists clenched again and he stepped forward. ‘Why you rotten, lying, commie punk, I’ll...’

  President Muffley said sharply, ‘Now stop this. Gentlemen, this has gone too far. You will stop it immediately.’

  Dr Strangelove had been watching the startling interchange between the Ambassador and the General, his glasses hiding a look of cynical amusement. He turned, suddenly alert, as at that precise moment Staines’s voice saved the situation.

  He said excitedly, ‘Mister President, I think they’re getting the Premier.’

  LEPER COLONY

  King looked closely at Ace. He must have been hit, he decided. He shouted, ‘Hey, one of you guys come an’ look to ole Ace here.’

  Dietrich left his seat and moved forward to the flight deck.

  King checked his instruments. Fire-warning lights were glowing on engines three and four in the port inner pod. He said, ‘Shuttin’ down three an’ four,’ and flipped the switches.

  The needles of the revolution indicators for three and four slowly swung to zero, and as fuel to the engines was cut, the fire died. But a wisp of smoke still trailed from the pod.

  King said to the crew, ‘Awright, fire systems workin’.’

  The smoke was still thick inside the aeroplane. King could taste it, though he was on emergency oxygen. There was only one solution, he thought. They must get down to low level as fast as possible.

  He trimmed the bomber for maximum rate descent and said, ‘I’m takin’ her down on the deck. And I mean on the deck. Sweets, that okay?’

  Sweets Kivel consulted his chart. ‘Sure, King, no high ground on track for a while yet.’

  The bomber slanted down in a deep descent. Dietrich, who was struggling to get Ace out of his seat, said, ‘Hey, I can’t move him while she’s going down. King, looks like he’s hit in the shoulder. Maybe shock too,’ he added. Dietrich prided himself on his medical knowledge. He had completed one year of pre-med before entering the Air Force.

  King said, ‘One of you guys come help. Lothar?’

  ‘Yes, King?’

  ‘You got any damage?’

  Lothar Zogg checked again. He was satisfied it was all working right. He said, ‘No damage, King.’

  ‘Awright, come up here and help.’

  Lothar climbed up to the flight deck, and helped Dietrich to get Ace Owens out of his seat and back to the bunk which was used by crewmen when they needed rest.

  King held the bomber steady in the steep descent. It was losing height at five thousand feet a minute now. He looked at the fuel gauges and saw that several of them were swinging erratically. Probably, he thought, because the descent was so steep.

  Dietrich said, ‘We got Ace on the bunk, King. He just opened his eyes. I don’t think he’s hit too bad.’

  ‘Great,’ King said, and looked again at the fuel gauges. Then he continued, ‘Listen, Dietrich, you fix him up with a dressing for the wound, then get back on that set. I want everything we got blasting out jamming when we get down on the deck.’

  ‘Roger, King.’

  King concentrated on his instruments, saw everything was normal, then asked the crew for damage reports.

  Sweets Kivel said, ‘All my stuff is working fine, but say, King, there’s one little thing I’m worried about.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Well, your fuel gauges acting like mine are? Kind of jumping around?’

  King looked at his gauges again. The needles were still oscillating, but less than before. He said, ‘Lemme worry about that, kid. We’re still flyin’ and that’s the way it’s gonna be. Goldy, how about it? You got any trouble?’

  Lieutenant Goldberg’s voice was excited. He said, ‘Well, King, haven’t finished my check yet. Tell you one thing, though, there’s a big hole in the side of the plane right opposite the CRM-114. I’m checking it out.’

  King accepted this without comment and said, ‘Dietrich, you back on station yet?’

  Dietrich was sliding into his seat as King’s message came through. Goldberg pointed to the flight deck and Dietrich hastily connected his intercom.

  King said, ‘Dietrich, you hear me?’

  ‘Yeah, sure, King.’

  ‘So how’s Ace?’

  ‘Not bad, King,’ Dietrich said quickly. ‘It ain’t a bad wound. He’ll maybe survive.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Right glad to hear it. You look after ole Ace. Now you hear me?’

&
nbsp; ‘Sure, King.’

  ‘Awright, now check your equipment.’

  ‘Roger, King.’ Dietrich looked at his ECM. He tested the circuits, found them working well.

  He said, ‘All circuits tested and good. You want emergency power when we’re on the deck, King?’

  ‘Will it help?’

  ‘Sure it’ll help – jam out everything in radar range of us. See, down on the deck we need the extra power, too much interference, you know trees and hills and stuff. It’ll help.’

  King said, ‘So use it. We aim to make that target, an’ we gonna make it. So use every damn thing you need. Ain’t nothin’ to stop us if we go in at low level.’

  ‘Okay,’ Dietrich said, ‘I’ll keep it high as I think will be safe.’

  ‘You do that.’

  King made himself more comfortable in his seat. He thought briefly of Ace Owens, then forgot him as he watched for the enemy coast.

  There were many dangers ahead, he knew. High ground not shown on the combat maps, fighters, ground-to-air missiles, flak. But he had been trained to deal with these. He knew that a plane barrelling along at about six hundred knots was almost invulnerable to the defences if it was down on the deck. And that was where he intended to take Leper Colony.

  He said, ‘I’m settin’ for maximum speed at deck level.’

  Sweets replied immediately. ‘You know what that’ll do to our fuel consumption?’

  ‘Can’t be hepped. What kinda wind we got, Sweets?’

  ‘The wind might help. Looks to be going our way. But my guess is, if we use maximum speed we’re going to have to paddle our way back.’

  King said, ‘Well, we’ll worry about that when the time comes.’

  He looked ahead and saw the enemy coast.

  BURPELSON AIR FORCE BASE