Dr. Strangelove

by Peter George

  He switched his phone from right hand to left and began to write rapidly on the pad in front of him. As he wrote, he repeated the information the Russian Premier was giving him.

  ‘The People’s Central Air Defence Headquarters – that’s a great name, Dimitri, where is that? Oh, in Omsk. All right… you’ll call them first... uh huh... listen, do you happen to have the phone number handy? Just ask Omsk Information? Okay, Dimitri, I’ve got that. How long will it take for you to get back to your office?’

  He waited for the reply, flicking ash from his nervously puffed cigarette on the gleaming floor of the War Room. ‘Well, call me as soon as you do. The number is Dudley three, three three three three extension two three six five, and listen, if you forget, just ask for the War Room, they’ll be expecting your call. Okay... bye-bye.’

  The President covered the mouthpiece with his hand again and turned to the Ambassador. ‘He wants to talk to you.’

  Ambassador De Sadeski began to talk rapidly in Russian. Suddenly he became silent, interjecting only a few questions and finally slamming down his phone to end the conversation.

  The President looked at him with apprehension. ‘What happened?’

  De Sadeski slowly took his hand away from the telephone. Slowly he raised his head until he was looking right at the President. He said softly but bitterly, ‘The fools! The mad, crazy, insane fools!’

  The President said quickly, ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The Doomsday Machine.’

  Around the table men turned to each other, echoing De Sadeski’s phrase. None of them knew what he was talking about.

  ‘I never heard of it,’ Admiral Randolph said.

  ‘Me neither,’ General Faceman broke in.

  General Turgidson contented himself with a disgusted snort, looked at the ceiling, and said authoritatively, ‘There isn’t such a thing.’

  De Sadeski ignored them. He spoke in a quiet and metallic monotone. ‘The Doomsday Machine. A device which will destroy all human and animal life on earth.’ His control suddenly broke and he began to curse in Russian.

  Though no one understood what he was saying, they realised from his way of saying it that something terrible had happened.

  Doctor Strangelove realised what that something was. He began to formulate a plan to combat the disaster. He was confident that he would succeed and that his plan would be accepted when those in the room, including the President, realised the inevitable implications of what the Russian Ambassador had said.

  But for the moment he was saying nothing. He wanted time to think.

  LEPER COLONY

  King was flying the bomber right on the deck now. He was relying on the accuracy of his radar altimeter and on the many years of experience he had behind him. He had set the radar altimeter so that it would show red when the plane’s height was less than one hundred feet.

  He said, ‘How’s ole Ace, Dietrich?’

  ‘Not in good shape.’

  ‘You got all the ECM working at maximum?’

  ‘Maximum, King.’

  ‘Roger.’

  Sweets Kivel picked up his computer, adjusted the circular scale, and wrote down some figures. Then he used the computer again and checked his results. He frowned, shook his head, and checked them again.

  Lieutenant Lothar Zogg was watching this operation attentively. He said quietly to the navigator as he saw his anxious look, ‘Something wrong, kid?’

  Sweets said, ‘Well, it looks rough. Hey, King, we’re using an awful lot of fuel.’

  ‘Sure,’ King said, ‘this altitude we do use a lot of fuel.’

  Sweets shook his head again. ‘Yes, I know. But my calculations show we’re using a lot more than we should.’

  King laughed. He said, ‘So check ‘em again, Sweets. I ain’t never seen a navigator yet who didn’t make a mistake.’

  Goldberg was working busily on the CRM-114, testing out the circuits. He reached to the rack above the device and pulled down a small unit to replace the unit which he thought was kaput.

  The unit system was used in SAC bombers to speed repairs to damaged equipment. In the air there was no time to mend broken wires and connections. So each piece of equipment was built in a series of units which could be easily replaced.

  Goldberg removed the old unit and slid the new one into place. Then he began testing again.

  Dietrich bent over Ace. ‘Can I get you anything, Ace,’ he said. ‘Java or something?’

  ‘Guess I’d like some water,’ Ace said. ‘Throat seems kind of dry.’

  Dietrich nodded his head wisely. He adopted the bedside manner of a family physician. ‘Always does, this sort of case. I’ll get you some water. How’s the dressing?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Ace said faintly.

  Dietrich turned away and filled a paper cup with water.

  At this height the plane was not too steady. Up-currents from the rough and rugged terrain were shaking it, and Dietrich had difficulty in taking the water to Ace without spilling it. But he succeeded, and Ace Owens sucked down with avidity the water from the cup Dietrich held for him.

  He said, ‘That was great.’

  Again Dietrich nodded. ‘Always is,’ he said. ‘Now you try to get some sleep.’

  Ace closed his eyes. Dietrich watched him for a few seconds, then returned to his station.

  Sweets Kivel checked his calculations for a third time and passed them across to Lothar Zogg. He said, ‘Lothar, you see if you can make these come out any different.’

  Lothar Zogg looked carefully at the figures. He reached for a computer and checked them out. After a minute he put the computer down on the table in front of them and said, ‘I can’t see any mistakes.’

  Sweets said, ‘King, those calculations were right. I’ve checked them again and Lothar checked them too. We’re using twice the fuel we should.’

  King said quickly, ‘But we got enough to get to the primary?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘And the secondary?’

  ‘Well yes, but…’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘But you know I said a few minutes ago we’d have to paddle home?’

  ‘Awright,’ King said, ‘so we have to paddle home.’

  ‘Well now,’ Sweets said, ‘I got to amend that. Way it looks now, we’ll have a long walk before we start paddling.’

  THE WAR ROOM –

  COMMUNICATIONS CENTRE

  In a room behind the War Room, Air Force linguists were transmitting radio messages from staff officers to their equivalents in the Soviet Union.

  They were passing details of tracks and targets and also giving information of progress of the attacking bombers.

  They found that the Russian link-up was good, and the Russian officers replied to them quickly. It did not take long before both sides had established a rapport which seemed likely to end in the destruction of all the attacking bombers.

  These were professionals. They were not ideologists, or people with an axe to grind, but solid, professional officers with a lifetime of experience behind them and the knowledge they were doing their job.

  They talked busily as their opposite numbers in Omsk asked them for information which they freely gave on the President’s instructions.

  Among the items of information they supplied were these: the exact heights and speeds of the attacking bombers; their targets, primary and secondary; also details of their ECM devices and how to overcome them. Additionally they gave every detail about the bombers’ fuel supply, defence systems, and the number of defence missiles carried by each bomber and how they would be employed.

  They passed this information as rapidly as possible, and they noticed very quickly that the Russian staff officers were equally quick to pick up the messages and take action about them.

  The American staff officers were very impressed by this. It implied that the Russian staff officers were educated.

  BURPELSON AIR FORCE BASE

  ‘They’ve surrendere
d,’ Ripper repeated. In his voice there were tones of both anger and hurt.

  Mandrake tentatively put a hand on his elbow. He said, ‘They did their best, Jack. It was bound to happen. We just have to hope there weren’t too many casualties.’

  Ripper brushed past him, still holding the heavy machine gun in his left hand. Mandrake followed him as he crossed the office. Ripper looked at his cigar, saw that it was dead, but made no attempt to relight it. He stuck it back in his mouth, then turned his head toward Mandrake, who was bending anxiously over the left arm of the chair, looking at him with great concern.

  Ripper’s voice was different now. It was the voice of a man who unaccountably has been let down by friends. He said, ‘They were my boys and they let me down. They let me down. Pretty soon those other guys are going to walk in here, you know that?’

  Mandrake said lightly, ‘It doesn’t matter, Jack. After all, we know they’re on our side, you and I, Jack, don’t we?’

  ‘Are they?’

  ‘Well of course,’ Mandrake said, ‘of course they are.’

  Ripper looked steadily at Mandrake, his face twitching in several places now. He said, ‘Group Captain, have you ever been tortured?’

  ‘Well,’ Mandrake said, ‘yes, I have actually.’ Then he leaned forward and spoke urgently to Ripper. ‘Jack, we’re getting short of time, let me know the recall code, Jack, let me have it now before it’s too late.’

  ‘Who tortured you?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Mandrake said quickly. ‘Jack, just give me the recall code, we don’t have much time left now.’

  Ripper rolled his dead cigar around his mouth.

  ‘How well did you stand up under torture, Group Captain?’

  Mandrake said quietly and quickly, ‘Not well. No one does, you know, in the end.’

  ‘What did they get out of you?’

  Mandrake laughed uneasily. ‘Well, nothing much actually. Don’t think they really wanted anything actually. More for amusement, you might say.’

  Ripper looked at him intently. ‘Where was this?’

  Mandrake said, ‘Well, on the railway line, you know. Building lines for bloody Japanese puff-puffs. Nasty little bastards.’ He paused for a moment reflectively. ‘Funny they can make such bloody good cameras. Jack, my dear fellow, give me the code, we don’t have much time.’

  Ripper’s cigar moved in his mouth again as he spoke. ‘They’re going to be in here soon. I don’t know how well I could stand up to torture either. They might force the code out of me.’

  Mandrake’s laugh was nervous, almost hysterical. ‘No, Jack, they wouldn’t do that. Anyway, we can prevent it, can’t we? Just give me the code now, then everything will be all right. You’ll see.’

  Ripper looked at him. His eyes were glazed and expressionless, almost dead. His voice was lifeless. ‘It can’t ever be all right for me again, not after what’s happened.’

  Mandrake said quickly, ‘Don’t talk like that, Jack. Just give me the code, I’ll pass it on, then I’ll look after you. After all, these things happen, Jack. All you need is a rest. You know they’ll put you in a nice hospital and these psychiatrist fellows can work wonders, and before you know it you’ll be as right as rain.’ Urgency came into his voice. ‘There’s very little time left. Give me the code.’

  Ripper mumbled, ‘It won’t matter about the code, they won’t take any notice of that. They’ll be in here soon and they’ll get me.’

  Mandrake’s voice was artificially bright and lively. ‘Not a chance, Jack. You just leave it to me. And if they do try it, we’ll fight them off, just like we did before. You and me, Jack, eh? You hold the machine gun and I’ll feed you, just like we did before! Jack, please give me the code.’

  Ripper said, ‘‘Joe for King,’ Group Captain, that’s what they had written on the walls. Well, I tell you something, Joe ain’t ever going to be king. Joe’s dead, Group Captain, and if he wasn’t, he soon would be.’

  Ripper stood and Mandrake stood also. Ripper began to walk slowly across the office, the empty bullet cases clinking as his dragging feet moved through them. He was trailing the machine gun in his left hand.

  As he was passing the desk, the machine gun dropped from his hand and crashed to the floor. Mandrake hastened to pick it up and said, ‘Jack, your machine gun, don’t you want it, Jack?’

  Ripper slowly and deliberately took off his uniform jacket. Mandrake leaned the machine gun against a chair and said, ‘Here, let me have your coat, Jack. I’ll hold it for you.’

  Ripper handed over the coat without a word and turned away, moving like an automaton toward the door of his office.

  Mandrake followed him, the General’s coat folded across his arm. At the door Ripper paused. He turned and said, ‘I’m going for a walk, Group Captain. I don’t know how I could stand up. Remember the purity of your bodily essences, and remember “Peace On Earth,” Group Captain. Remember the significance of “Peace On Earth.”’ Then he went through the door, slamming it behind him.

  For a moment Mandrake was too paralysed to move. Then he went quickly to the door and ran out into the corridor. There was no sign of Ripper anywhere. Mandrake searched for him for several minutes but in vain. Then he returned dejectedly to the office.

  THE WAR ROOM

  In the War Room there was silence except for the clicking of electronic devices as the displays on the Big Board changed, and telephones were replaced as everyone pondered the implication of what the Russian Ambassador had said. Everyone looked toward him.

  De Sadeski said slowly and with dignity, ‘A Doomsday Machine, gentlemen. That’s what I said and that’s what I meant. When it is detonated it will produce enough lethal radioactive fallout so within twelve months the surface of the earth will be as dead as the moon.’

  General Turgidson said loudly, ‘That’s ridiculous, De Sadeski. Our studies show the worst fallout is down to a tolerably safe level after two weeks.’

  De Sadeski smiled coldly. ‘Have you ever heard of Cobalt-Thorium-G?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘It has,’ De Sadeski said, ‘a radioactive half-life of ninety-three years.’

  Around the table there was a buzz of talk and everyone instinctively looked at the senior aide who represented the Atomic Energy Commission. He nodded grimly.

  De Sadeski continued. ‘If you take, say, fifty H-bombs in the hundred-megaton range and jacket them with Cobalt-Thorium-G, when they are exploded they will produce a Doomsday shroud, a lethal cloud of radioactivity which will encircle the earth for ninety-three years.’

  The President ignored the murmurs round the table. He spoke directly to De Sadeski. ‘Mister Ambassador, I’m afraid I don’t understand something. Is the Premier threatening to explode this if our planes carry through their attack?’

  De Sadeski said emphatically, ‘No, sir. It is not a thing a sane man would do. The Doomsday Machine is designed to trigger itself automatically!’

  ‘But then, surely he can disarm it somehow.’

  ‘No! It is designed to explode if any attempt is ever made to untrigger it!’

  General Turgidson snorted. He turned to the colonel beside him and said softly, ‘It’s an obvious commie trick.’ He jerked his head toward the President and there was bitterness in his voice. ‘And he sits there wasting precious time.’

  President Muffley was bewildered. He could not grasp the implications of what De Sadeski had said. He thought for a moment, began to speak, hesitated, and lapsed into thought again. De Sadeski looked at him impassively. Finally the President said, ‘But surely, Ambassador, this is absolute madness. Why should you build such a thing?’

  De Sadeski shrugged his shoulders expressively. ‘There were those of us who fought against it, but in the end we could not keep up in the Peace Race, the Space Race and the Arms Race. Our deterrent began to lack credibility. Our people grumbled for more nylons and lipsticks. Our Doomsday project cost us just a fraction of what we had been spending in just a single ye
ar. But the deciding factor was when we learned your country was working along similar lines, and we were afraid of a Doomsday Gap.’

  ‘That’s preposterous. I’ve never approved anything like that!’

  ‘Our source was the New York Times.’

  President Muffley turned to his Director of Weapons Research and Development. ‘Doctor Strangelove, do we have anything like this in the works?’

  Doctor Strangelove spoke with Germanic precision. He emphasised his point with abrupt movements of his right hand. ‘Mister President, under the authority granted me as Director of Weapons Research and Development, I commissioned a study of this project by the Bland Corporation last year. Based on the findings of the report, my conclusion was that this idea was not a practical deterrent for reasons which at this moment must be all too obvious.’

  President Muffley passed a weary hand across his head. ‘You mean it’s unquestionably possible for them to have built this thing? Absolutely unquestionably possible?’

  ‘Mister President, the technique required is easily within the reach of even the smallest nuclear power. It requires only the will to do so.’

  ‘But,’ Muffley said, ‘is it really possible for it to be triggered automatically and at the same time impossible to untrigger?’

  Doctor Strangelove said quickly, ‘But precisely. Mister President, it is not only possible, it is essential. That is the whole idea of this machine. Deterrence is the art of producing in the mind of the enemy the fear to attack. And so because of the automated and irrevocable decision-making process which rules out human meddling, the Doomsday Machine is terrifying, simple to understand, and completely credible and convincing.’

  On the other side of the table General Turgidson turned again to the colonel beside him. He said, ‘What kind of a name is that – Strangelove? That ain’t no Kraut name.’

  The colonel whispered back to him, ‘Changed it when he became a US citizen. Used to be Merkwürdigichliebe.’