Five minutes had passed since the President had issued the order to retaliate against Russia.
Lewis and Nielsen were shouting at each other from opposite ends of the table. Nielsen supported a massive, indiscriminate SLBM and bomber attack pattern that would catch the Russians off guard and destroy their command structure, as well as decimate their population.
“What about their subs?” Lewis argued. “Even if we could take out every ICBM silo and command bunker in Russia, which I very much doubt, those subs in the Kara Sea probably operate on a fail-deadly basis. When they resurface for new orders and hear nothing, they’ll launch. And you can bet your ass that their SLBMs are programmed to hit our cities.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Stein?” Nielsen barked. He turned to Bishop. “Where the hell did you find this jerk, Tony? We’re facing annihilation, and he’s telling us we have to sit tight and keep a stiff upper lip.” To Lewis: “Well, perhaps that works in England, until we have to bail your asses out of trouble, but in America we do things rather differently.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Lewis observed flatly. “If you want to get abusive, fine. I’ve taken abuse from bigger men than you. And you’re right. I may be just ajerk with astiff upper lip. But just try and listen for once in your fucking life. This is my area of expertise. I know how Russian strategic defense systems work, and I know how they think.”
Further down the table, even Margaret managed a thin smile when she saw the Defense Secretary’s stunned expression. Nielsen wasn’t used to being chastised, especially by a man he obviously considered to be his intellectual inferior, not to mention an outsider. And that was what it was all about, wasn’t it? Even at such a pivotal moment in human history, men like Nielsen remained utterly protective of the power and influence they had broken countless careers to earn. As Secretary of Defense, he had almost unlimited access to the President, and he was more concerned with defending that than he was with defending the American people.
It’s all coming apart, the President thought. He had to regain control of the situation. “Dr Stein. Paul. You can both debate abstracts all you like, but my decision has been made. We will not further escalate this situation until such time as we can ascertain what’s going on inside Russia. They have to be as afraid as we are. I suspect that if we can turn this thing off right now, we have every chance of achieving a mutually acceptable outcome.”
Nielsen looked at the President with thinly veiled incredulity. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this, sir. Not from you. Not from the man who I considered to be the most principled leader since Kennedy. Your people, sir, are being killed on an unprecedented scale by a Russian murderer. Your job is to defend them, not to expect them to take their losses while you sit up here out of harm’s way. Do you not realize that you are being conned on a monumental scale? Not just by the Russians, but by people likehim. ” He pointed straight at Lewis. “We have to hit them with all the firepower we can muster. History will never forgive us if we don’t. You have an obligation, sir. To history and to the American people.”
Even without looking at him, Margaret sensed the explosive fury welling up in her husband. She grabbed his hand, trying to calm him down, but he shook it off. He rose slowly to his feet, his eyes bulbous with undiluted rage. Nielsen immediately realized he’d overstepped his bounds. “Don’t youdare fucking tell me about my duties to the American people, Mr. Nielsen. And don’tever presume to imply that I’m sitting here smug as pie. You have no fucking idea of the burden I shoulder at this moment. And it’s purely because of my obligations to the American people that I have decided to try and turn this thing off. Because I find it preferable to lose ten million totwo hundred and sixty million! ” He hissed the number through clenched teeth.
The room fell silent as Nielsen sunk back into his seat with the hurt expression of a child being reprimanded by a particularly stern parent. The President sat back down and took a deep breath to compose himself. “I am the President of the United States,” he reminded everybody. “I am the Commander in Chief of this nation’s armed forces. We have suffered horrendous losses tonight, and we have exacted retribution for those losses. Now it has to stop before we destroy whatever remains of our world. There will be noGrand Tour . There will be no further escalation of this war on our part. That is my final word on the matter.”
Lewis checked his watch. Washington would be destroyed in approximately three minutes. What was Jo doing right now? He swallowed hard, trying to shut the thought from his mind for now. There would be time for grieving later.
He hoped.
The silence in the room was broken when an Air Force major opened the door. He looked apologetic for having interrupted proceedings.
“Mr. President, sir,” he stammered, looking as frightened as anybody else. “We’ve got an incoming transmission on the Emergency Communications Channel.”
The President frowned. “From whom?”
“Well,” the Major stammered, “the person on the other end claims to be the Russian President.”
“Pushkin?” Copeland asked. There was something in the Major’s voice that made him suspect this was not exactly the case.
“No, sir. The guy says his name is Yazov. Says it’s urgent.”
“Really?” The President almost laughed at that. If ever I’ve heard an understatement…
In KNEECAP’s communications center, an Army Major was permanently on hand to enter the President’s messages into a PC terminal. The message was relayed through the Pentagon’s National Military Command Center using meteor burst technology, which wasn’t reliant on satellites that may have been destroyed in hostilities. A back-up system was in place at Fort Meade, Maryland, in case anything were to go wrong at the Pentagon. The computers at Fort Meade and NMCC would translate each message into Russian. The transmission would then be routed by either transatlantic landline or two separate satellite links to Moscow, via the British Government’s GCHQ facility in Cheltenham, England. The process was reversed for Russian messages being sent to the KNEECAP communications room. Transcripts of all communications between the two leaders were automatically relayed to NORAD, STRATCOM and theLooking Glass command plane.
The communications center was, as one might expect, somewhat claustrophobic. The effect was especially pronounced when the President, his advisors and a phalanx of Secret Service agents were all attempting to cram into it. Lewis noticed hundreds of flashing lights doing whatever it was that flashing lights did, while an array of computers and communication equipment was being attended to by a team of technicians who hardly took any notice when the VIPs entered the room.
A Navy officer surrendered his operator’s chair for the President, who pulled it up in front of the computer terminal while the Air Force Major explained the procedure to him.
“You tell me what you want to say, sir, and I type it in. The message normally takes a couple of minutes to reach the other end, which is a terminal under the Russian Defense Ministry. When it arrives in the Russian Hot Line room, it will appear on their screens in Russian.”
Mitchell nodded impatiently. He didn’t have the patience for a lecture in computer technology. He’d spent his life studiously avoiding the contraptions. “Okay,” he said. “Type this…”
UNDERGROUND COMMAND POST, THE KREMLIN
General Yazov --- This is President Mitchell. I understand that you now claim to be the leader of the Russian Federation. If this is the case, you will be able to answer the following questions:
1.Why is Pushkin not in command authority?
2.Why have you launched ICBM’s against the United States when we did nothing to provoke such an attack?
Yazov read the encrypted message as it appeared on his screen. Although the American’s opening remarks were predictable, the Russian President’s brow furrowed with concern. “He doesn’t say whether he has launched a retaliatory strike.”
“He is frightened,” observed an Army Marshal with barely concealed delight
.
Yazov gave the Marshal his most withering look. “I would like to think that we areall scared, Marshal. He is curious. He wants an explanation. He deserves one, don’t you think?”
ABOARD KNEECAP
President Mitchell --- In answer to your questions:
1.President Pushkin was declared unfit to exercise the obligations of office after he launched the unforgivable nuclear attack against the Ukraine. He is currently under detention, although we cannot ascertain whether he survived the attack against Moscow. In the meantime, I have been appointed as a temporary successor under emergency constitutional provisions. I have every intention of returning control to a democratically elected civilian leadership at the earliest opportunity. Naturally, this process may be delayed by the damage caused to our nation.
2.The missile attack against the United States is the result of a terrible mistake committed by our air defenses. We knew nothing of the attack against us, or of its origins, until the bombs detonated. Having received intelligence that Washington was being evacuated minutes before the attack, we erroneously assumed that the United States was responsible and reacted accordingly. Only later did we discover who had truly attacked us. We are urgently investigating how the Ukrainian government came into the possession of functional nuclear weapons. I will inform you as soon as we have any further information on this matter.
“He’s being defensive,” Copeland pointed out. “He acknowledges that the attack came from Ukraine, so…”
Nielsen completed the sentence with his own theory. “So he knows more than he’s letting on. What I would like to know is why haven’t they retaliated against the Ukrainians yet?”
“Perhaps they think this has gone far enough already,” the President suggested. “I know I do.”
“That doesn’t correlate with their behavior so far,” Westwood remarked. “Three of their cities got hit, and they responded massively. They got hit with three warheads, and they launched severalhundred at us. Now those aren’t the actions of a man who wants to bring this situation to a swift resolution.”
“With all due respect, General, I disagree,” Lewis said, trying not to sound as though he were coming down hard on Westwood. “We have to remember that there is bound to be immense political confusion over there right now, particularly with a military coup in progress. Not to mention that their BMEWS systems are probably unable to tell them whether or not the three Ukrainian missiles were merely part of a larger attack. They’re probably blind right now, we have to remember that. Believe me, if they had wanted to really hit us hard, we would have found our cities under swarm attack.”
Margaret nodded her agreement to the President. “I’m inclined to agree, Ed. The attack profile is concurrent with a counterforce strike. And, as General Allen pointed out earlier, it’s full of holes. For the most part, they seem to be avoiding civilian and industrial targets.”
“You seem to have forgotten Houston, Seattle and D.C.,” Nielsen pointed out.
“Not at all,” the First Lady fixed him with a cold stare. “I’m just saying that those cities are roughly equivalent to Moscow, Volgograd and Tula. They have no more desire in escalating this than we do.”
“I agree,” the President said. “I was just asking myself how would we have reacted in their shoes? Use ‘em or lose ‘em, right Paul?” He glanced at Nielsen, who shifted uncomfortably upon hearing his own words used against him. “That’s what they were forced to do.” The resolve in his voice deterred anybody from voicing their disagreement.
“Excuse me.” Lewis interrupted his former boss, looking apologetic for doing so. “I’ve met Yazov on several occasions. I actually had dinner with him and his wife Svetlana once in Moscow.”
“And?” Bishop asked, waiting to see if Lewis’s assessment reconciled to the CIA’s evaluation of the Russian General.
“And I’m pretty certain that he’s for real. Both his kids are in the military, did you know that?” No one did. “His daughter Katrina is a fighter pilot, a damn good one too, and his son Ivan is a Major in the Army. He’s always been thought of as one of the more moderate members of their General Staff. Always steered clear of politics, but he gave me the impression of being quite pro-Western. If you’re looking for a madman, you’ve got the wrong guy.”
“Yeah right,” Nielsen snorted. “Just an everyday rational guy who launches hundreds of nuclear warheads at the United States of America. Tell me another one, Stein.”
“Have you met him?” Lewis retorted sharply. Nielsen lowered his head, saying nothing. Lewis turned to the President. “Sir, I’m willing to bet my life that he’s genuine. The stakes are too high for deceit now. We have to tell him about the launch against his country. If they’re taken by surprise again, there’s no telling how far this thing could go.”
“Oh, that’s just great,” Nielsen scowled. “We give them just enough warning to get the rest of their ICBMs out of the silos before our missiles hit. Anyway, even if you’re right about Yazov, who’s to say that it’s really him in charge over there? You said yourself that Moscow is in political turmoil. It could be a trick by the extremists to convince us that a more rational head is calling the shots.”
The President turned on the Secretary of Defense, his lip trembling with fear and anger. “Paul, that’senough ,” he barked. “Dr Stein is right. I’m not going to be responsible for any more misunderstandings. Let’s clear this mess up once and for all.”
Edward Mitchell had left nobody in any doubt. He was the President of the United States.
PHELPS, TEXAS
Tabatha had never felt so scared of anybody in her life. Not even Dick. She’d persuaded Al - as he called himself - to lower his weapon by telling him the truth about why the Canning kids had left Houston, and how they’d ended up in Huntsville. Upon hearing the part of her story about a war, he’d slumped into an armchair, head hung in desolation. He was still sat there, rifle rested across his lap. Nina, Rhonda and Gary stood behind Tabatha, eyeing him nervously.
“You sure we’re at war?” he asked.
“Thass what folks’re sayin’,” Tabatha replied. She shrugged. “I don’t know how or why, but they all seem to think it’s real enough. Why don’t you check the TV or radio?”
His lip curled into a crooked smile. It didn’t look pleasant on him. “Ain’t got noTee-Vee . Ain’t got no radio either. Just got your word, that’s all I’ve got.” There was an edge of menace to the last sentence that didn’t go unnoticed by Tabatha. She was sensitive to such things.
“Look, mister,” she said. “All we need is somewhere to sleep for the night. We weren’t gonna rob you or nothin’. If you don’t want us, we’ll find someplace else.”
Nina tugged Tabatha’s shirt from behind, trying to get her big sister’s attention. Her eyes widened, as if to say,are you crazy? Tabatha smiled reassuringly at her, then sweetly at Al.
“Al ain’t gonna hurt us, are you Al?”
Al stared at each of the kids in turn, his eyes still narrow and malevolent. He looked at the children as if he were planning to dine on them. The stare caused Nina to shiver involuntarily. Rhonda and Gary stood with their heads hung low, unwilling to make eye contact with him. They were more scared of Al than they were of the darkness outside. In fact, the only comfort they drew was from Tabatha’s apparent lack of fear. What they didn’t know was that she was damn good at hiding it.
“Nah,” he said finally, “Ah ain’t got no problem with that. You kids can stay here. After all, ah caint throw y’all out at this time o’night, can ah?”
He smiled at the children, exposing crooked, gap-ridden teeth, rich with black decay. It was the most chilling, ugly smile Tabatha had ever seen.
He was still wearing it when, suddenly, the lights died and the ground began to shake.
90thSPACE WING, WARREN AFB, WYOMING
Kurato was fighting back tears when the warning bells ceased. The silence was perhaps more foreboding than the cacophony that had preceded it. Her job was
done. Her war was over. She had just killed twenty million people. Twenty million lives, hopes and dreams. Twenty million people just like her. Congratulations, Miss Holly Kurato, you’ve just scored a massive twenty million on the death-o-meter, which ranks you above last week’s winner, Adolf Hitler. Ladies and Gentlemen, please join us next week for another round of Global Genocide…
Pearson lit a cigarette and offered one to Kurato. “These things’ll probably kill you,” he remarked dryly, “but what the hell?”
She managed a brave smile and took the filter tip. Pearson lit it for her. She inhaled and spluttered, her eyes watering. It was the first cigarette she’d ever smoked. Well, today was full of firsts, wasn’t it?
“You know,” she said, dragging more carefully the second time, “this is the one thing the Air Force didn’t train us for.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what to do after it’s all over. We just sit down here until radiation levels become safe -if they ever become safe - and then dig our way out -if we can dig our way out - and return to the surface...”
Pearson concluded the sentence. “Ifthere’s anything left to return to.”
“And all of that assumes that we survive the attack.”
A thoughtful pause.
“Do you want to?” It was a question Pearson had been asking himself ever since the ICBMs had flown from Warren.
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