Ultimatum

by Matthew Glass

  Flight time from eastern China to the West Coast for an ICBM is fifteen to twenty minutes,” said Enderlich.

  “So it’s Chinese?”

  “That’s our working assumption.”

  “Do we know that?”

  “What other poss—”

  “Do we know that?” demanded the president.

  “We didn’t identify it before it hit, sir. We’re going over our scans. We’ll track the route and then we’ll know.”

  “Have they acknowledged responsibility?”

  “Not yet, sir.”

  There was a knock on the door. An officer came in. He handed a piece of paper to the admiral. Enderlich studied it.

  “Order China targeting,” said Enderlich, and the officer nodded and left. Enderlich turned to Benton. “Mr. President, we have it launching from a base in Hunan province at two twelve p.m. eastern time.”

  Benton put his head in his hands. He could hear the hum of the plane’s engines. He remembered what F. William Knight had said about President Wen. Take it seriously, Wen had said. The bombastic words of the Chinese president. Take it seriously. But who could have imagined?

  “What’s being done on the ground?” he murmured.

  “Alpha Plan is in place, sir. The vice president is being bunkered. Director of the CIA, secretary of defense, and cabinet members are with her. The Speaker of the House is being bunkered at a separate location.”

  “No, Admiral. I mean on the ground. In California.”

  “Nuclear Emergency Plan, sir.”

  “What does that mean?” demanded Benton, looking up at him. “Right now. What’s being done?”

  “Assessment. Satellite initially. Other information will be coming in via reconnaissance drones once the dust clears to provide adequate visibility. We’ll have personnel moving in from the periphery of the zone as radiation levels allow. Mr. President, I know your thoughts are with the victims, but I have to ask you to think about something else. We’re waiting on your decision for action, whether we launch full-scale retaliation or a limited strike.”

  The president stared at him.

  “Sir?”

  Joe Benton felt cold. The reverberating thrum of the plane engines seemed to grind right through to his marrow.

  “Sir, you have one hour from the strike time to override the general attack response. The code has now been transmitted to all relevant facilities to target them on China. If they do not receive your override in...it’s thirty-one minutes now, the system will assume you’re dead and we’re going to wipe China off the map.”

  Enderlich put the codes briefcase on the table and snapped it open.

  Benton looked at Alan Ball. Ball closed his eyes, slowly shaking his head.

  “What happens in a full-scale strike?” asked the president. He must have been told, he knew, but his mind had gone blank.

  “Strike on every known nuclear and nuclear-ready facility and all previously known locations of mobile launchers,” replied the admiral. “Also on major nonnuclear military facilities. One way or another, this will affect most major population centers. Certain offshore and unidentified nuclear assets will survive the attack, and we should expect that they will attempt to respond. In the case of China, we anticipate twenty to forty warheads of various sizes will be launched at the continental United States. Not all will reach their destinations.”

  “What other choices do I have?”

  “There are three choices, Mr. President. Apart from the full-scale response, there’s a limited response and a single strike. In the case of China, the single strike could be Beijing, Shanghai, or we could target a secondary city.”

  Joe Benton felt ill. The room was small, the air stifling.

  “Or nothing?”

  “In principle, it is possible for you to stand down all facilities. But I strongly recommend against that, Mr. President. We have no deterrent if we are not prepared to use it.” Enderlich waited for a reply. “Sir?”

  “I heard you. I also heard you when you told me a couple of days ago they’d never try something like this.”

  “I repeat, Mr. President, we have no deterrent if you do not use it.”

  “Is there any evidence they’re planning other attacks?”

  “Not yet.”

  “We wouldn’t exactly expect them to notify us,” said the officer with Enderlich.

  Benton dropped his head again, trying to get it straight in his mind. Did he need to launch a retaliatory strike? Would that stop the aggression or escalate it? What if it escalated? What was the next step? How would he stop it?

  He was aware of time passing, the seconds spinning away.

  Suddenly he felt extraordinarily isolated from the outside world. He was in a small, closed room on an airplane. He was being told things. How did he know any of this was really happening? All he knew was what Enderlich was telling him. Suddenly he thought, how did he know it wasn’t a coup? Why wasn’t Larry Olsen here? How did he know this wasn’t some kind of coup by Olsen and the military?

  “Show me the pictures,” he said suddenly.

  Enderlich looked at him, not understanding.

  “You said you’ve got satellite pictures of the strike zone.”

  “Mr. President, we really don’t have time to—”

  “Show me! Right now, Admiral.”

  Enderlich stared at the president for a moment, then he glanced at the other officer and nodded. The officer went out and closed the door behind him. As they waited there was silence. Benton’s face was taut. He glanced at Alan Ball. When that door opened again, he thought, he would know. Either someone would come back with a handful of pictures or a squad of marines.

  The door opened. Two officers came in. One of them gave a handheld to Admiral Enderlich.

  Enderlich put it down in front of the President. “These are satellite images. That’s the Bay area, two twenty-seven. Everything’s okay.” He tapped on the handheld. “There it is, two twenty-nine.”

  The picture spoke for itself. A disk-shaped smudge had appeared over the base of the fingerlike projection of the San Francisco peninsula.

  Enderlich tapped. “Two thirty.”

  The cloud was bigger.

  Enderlich tapped again. “Two thirty-five.”

  The cloud was elongating into an oval, now reaching out over the bay.

  Benton glanced at Alan Ball, who had been looking at the screen over his shoulder. Ball’s face was a mixture of awful misery and fear. He had just seen a nightmare come to life, a vision of the apocalypse. A mushroom cloud over an American city.

  “We need a decision, sir.” Enderlich looked at his watch. “We have twenty-three minutes.”

  The president turned to Enderlich. “What do you recommend, Admiral?”

  To Benton’s surprise, the admiral didn’t recommend the all-out strike. “Limited response, sir.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “It’s targeted on known active nuclear sites. The message it sends is that we’re only concerned to extinguish the enemy’s nuclear capability for our own self-defense, but we do not aim for their destruction nor the eradication of their conventional military capability.”

  “In China,” said one of the other officers, “we would estimate an immediate one hundred to one hundred twenty million casualties from the blasts and an equal number again over the first month from burns and other injuries.”

  Benton stared. “That’s the limited strike?”

  “Yes, sir. The collateral damage is a function of the Chinese military policy of locating nuclear facilities in proximity to population centers. It’s a risk they’ve always run, and they’re aware of it. If they did the same to us, we would take blast and first-month casualties of no more than fifteen to twenty million.”

  The president looked at Alan Ball. Ball slumped in a chair. His face said it all, the crumpled, helpless expression of a man who wished he wasn’t there.

  “I can’t kill two hundred million people,” mur
mured Benton disbelievingly.

  “Mr. President,” said Admiral Enderlich, “we need a decision. We have to act.”

  Suddenly Joe Benton was reminded of Whitefish, the first day of the siege, when he had been asked to authorize an assault. The sense of responsibility that had struck him so strongly, the doubt. The way he had put off the decision.

  “If we don’t act, sir, we have no deterrent. We become vulnerable to every other nuclear power.”

  There was no comparison with Whitefish, he knew. It was incongruous to think about it, even for an instant. There was no comparison at all.

  “Mr. President. I repeat, we have no deterrent if we don’t act.”

  Joe Benton turned back to the admiral.

  “Sir, we need a decision.”

  “Launch a single strike,” said Benton quietly.

  “A single strike, sir? Are you certain?”

  Joe Benton nodded. He didn’t know if he could bring himself physically to say it again.

  “That leaves the enemy with its nuclear capability intact.”

  “I realize that, Admiral.”

  “That puts us behind them in the game. They’ve already launched a single strike. Doctrine says we hit back harder.”

  Doctrine says, thought Benton.

  “You always hit back harder.”

  “Always?” demanded Benton sharply. “There is no always. When has this happened before? Your doctrine is theory, Admiral.”

  “Mr. President, I think you should consider your responsibility as commander in chief to safeguard—”

  “When I want a lecture about my responsibility, Admiral, I’ll let you know! Understand me? Launch a single strike!”

  Admiral Enderlich clenched his jaw. Benton could see his muscles working.

  “Where, sir?” he said eventually. “Shanghai? We know that two of President Wen’s children live in Shanghai, but we would assume by now they’d be bunkered.”

  The implication of the admiral’s words hit Benton like a blow. He almost physically threw up.

  “Sir?”

  “Not Shanghai. And not Beijing. Somewhere smaller.”

  “We have a series of secondary targets.” The admiral slid the open briefcase toward the president.

  One of the other officers began typing on a handheld.

  “Your right thumb, sir,” said the admiral, pointing at the briefcase.

  The president pressed his thumb on a pad inside the case. The device beeped.

  “Now your right eye.”

  The president picked up the iris scanner that was in the case and put it to his eye. The device beeped again.

  A set of codes came up on the screen, red numbers.

  “Your thumb again, sir.”

  The president swiped his thumb, and all but one of the numbers disappeared.

  “And again, sir.”

  Benton swiped once more. The device beeped again, and then the number disappeared. The screen was blank.

  “What’s happened?”

  “The code’s gone out,” said the Admiral.

  “For a single strike?”

  “I’ll be giving that order in a moment.”

  Benton looked at him suspiciously.

  “If you’ll sign, sir,” said the admiral coldly. Beside him, the officer who had been typing was pointing his handheld at the briefcase, and a page was coming out of a printer in the case.

  “The paper’s more distinctive than the paper for a dollar bill,” said the admiral. “If anyone ever wants to verify, it could only come from one printer.” He pulled out the page and handed it to the president.

  Benton read the page. It was an order for an immediate nuclear strike on a secondary city in China.

  “Sign, sir, if you will.”

  Benton signed.

  Enderlich picked it up. “Thank you, Mr. President.” The admiral turned to leave the room.

  “Admiral,” said the president, “do you know what city will be targeted?”

  Enderlich stopped at the door. “Not at present, sir. There’s a rotating roster. I’ll have you informed.”

  Joe Benton nodded. He felt numb. “I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

  ~ * ~

  He had been taken to a bunker complex in South Dakota. He recorded an address to be streamed to the nation. He said that a grave attack had been launched by China on the soil of the United States. He said that all efforts were being made to get help to those who had been hit. He said the response of the United States had been swift and decisive, proportionate and firm, aiming to demonstrate the determination and power of the United States, keep the country safe, and prevent further escalation. Stopping short of issuing a formal declaration of war on China, he called on the Chinese government to desist from further attacks or risk severe punishment, and to immediately declare adherence to the global Carbon Plan. He said nothing about Taiwan. The Chinese government could have it if they wanted it. Had Larry Olsen been with him, he knew, he would have had to fight him over that, but he wasn’t going to sacrifice one more American life, military or civilian, for the sake of Taiwanese independence. Finally, he called on all world leaders and the community of nations to confirm their acceptance of the Carbon Plan and join with the United States at this time of crisis.

  Jodie Ames, who was with him, had persuaded him not to do it live, and he was glad she had. It took him four attempts to get the address right, to get enough sense of leadership and hope into his voice, not to appear as hollow and stricken as he really felt.

  In the situation room in the bunker complex, Admiral Enderlich and his staff were taking reports and debating the next action to take. Their only answer seemed to be a bigger, harder response if there was any indication that the Chinese were going to hit them again.

  Greg was known to have been safe in New York, and had been bunkered. There was no information on Amy, not even for the president. Heather was desperate for news. She sat in front of a screen watching reports on the news sites being streamed into the bunker.

  ~ * ~

  Tuesday-Wednesday, November 1-2

  South Dakota

  The situation room was a frenzy of activity but somehow there was nothing for him to do. He felt almost redundant. Every hour through the night there was a briefing, yet hard information about what was happening on the ground didn’t seem to increase appreciably from one briefing to the next. He made calls, and more calls. He spoke with Mary Okoro, the governor of California, who knew only what she was being told by the Federal Emergency Response Authority. He already had that information direct from Lou Katz, the Authority’s director. He spoke to other governors. The National Guard had been mobilized throughout the country, but disturbances had been few. He spoke to Angela Chavez and Jay MacMahon. Larry Olsen was apparently close to D.C. in a bunker to which communication had failed. This was the first time the Alpha Plan had been put to the test in real life, Enderlich said, so inevitably there were going to be glitches. No one seemed to know whether the Chinese government would be able to reach Olsen if they wanted to. Benton wondered whether they would be able to reach him here in this bunker and demanded that Enderlich find out.

  The estimate was that the warhead had been approximately one megaton in size. Heather sat constantly watching the news streams in the bunker, but the only solid information the streams had was from the Emergency Response Authority. Otherwise, they were filling time mostly with speculation by reporters far from the scene and analysts giving their views on what the president ought to do or criticizing a relief response of which they could know absolutely nothing. The satellite photographs released to the agencies showed a flare-shaped smear of dust over northern California, being blown in the direction of Sacramento, which had been evacuated. Lou Katz, who was designated under the Alpha Plan to direct operations from a bunker in Ohio, was ubiquitous on the streams. One site after another showed footage of him announcing that emergency teams equipped with protective gear were entering the strike zone. The president i
magined people all over the country, all over the world, restlessly seeking information, and seeing only Katz’s jowly face with the same hunted expression saying the same words over and over again. Katz told the president he had reports of hospitals in San Francisco and San Jose choking with burned survivors. That was something the agencies weren’t being told. It was chaos in those cities. Those who could, had fled, including many of the doctors and nurses from the hospitals at which survivors were arriving. The electromagnetic pulse from the strike had disrupted computer and communication systems throughout the Bay Area, which added to the mayhem, although it also meant that no unofficial reports were coming out of the area. Yet some news streams were now starting to carry accounts purporting to be from witnesses in the periphery of the strike zone. Under the powers of the Nuclear Emergency Plan, Katz had the power to shut down sites carrying unauthorized reports but he hadn’t taken that step. A blackout on major new streams, he believed, would just throw the country into even greater panic. But it was only a matter of time before unofficial reporting got out of hand unless they could counter it with better information. A one-megaton device, Benton was told, would blast everything flat in a radius of five miles and burn anything to a cinder that was within twice that distance from the strike. So far, the only reliable reports were coming to Katz’s headquarters from no closer than fifteen miles from the strike zone in Palo Alto.