by Joe Weber
Immediately, sir.
The president of the United States started to speak, then fell silent.
He turned and stared out his window overlooking the manicured lawn, his mind refusing to accept the recent invasion of his tranquil surroundings.
The tall, athletic leader, educated in the Ivy League, was a cautious man. The president, by nature, didn't overreact to pressure situations.His close friends and advisers knew, however, that he could be tough and relentless if forced into a difficult position.
Mister President, these gentlemen are correct, sir. They are the experts. The situation is explosive. We haven't been this close to war in decades, the chief of staff. Grant Wilkinson, paused, glancing at the service chiefs and the secretary of defense.
I propose, Mister President, that you initiate DEFCON-Three and return the call to Zhilinkhov without delay.
The president, his back to his advisors, remained quiet a full minute before turning his swivel chair around and addressing the group.
This is a radical step you are proposing. I'm not certain the incidents that have occurred thus far warrant such measures.
The president looked Chambers squarely in the face and continued.
Admiral, would you have me jeopardize our latest advances in arms control, our relations with the Kremlin, over these isolated incidents?
Mister President, our pleasant relationship with the Kremlin died in the aircraft wreckage at Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport, along with the former general secretary.
Chambers knew he had to press the issue. Furthermore, sir, these incidents are not isolated or random. They are, quite clearly, premeditated.
The president looked at Wilkinson. The tall, prematurely white-haired chief of staff was his closest aide and longtime friend. Where do we stand. Grant?
Sir, the Soviets are pressing us to the wall. We have satellite confirmation of massive tank movements in Europe. The NATO partners are screaming for our response.
Wilkinson opened his briefing folder, running his eyes down the page, and continued. Squadrons of Russian bombers and fighters have been deployed to staging fields. Many sorties have already been flown over allied territory and our battle groups.
Sir, Zhilinkhov is a different breed of animal. He is the quintessence of Soviet ideological fanaticism, and, he has a nucleus of adherents supporting him. The past Russian leaders pale in comparison.
Wilkinson paused, while the president opened his briefing folder and skimmed the first and second pages. He looked at Chambers, a question in his mind.
This reliable information. Admiral?
Yes sir, Chambers replied, opening his folder. Our underwater detectors have verified six Russian subs off the East Coast, plus three more off the coast of Florida. The subs you have already been briefed on.
The president pushed his bifocals to a comfortable position before speaking.
What's the straight scoop on this Tennessee fracas? Not waiting for an answer, the president continued.
Zhilinkhov was livid, almost incoherent. That's why, gentlemen, I don't want to overreact to all of this. I'd like to let everyone calm down before we proceed to discuss these matters with Zhilinkhov or anyone else.
The president looked at Chambers, then glanced at Wilkinson, who remained quiet while the admiral replied.
' First, Mister President, the Tennessee was fired upon, depth-charged, by the Russians. That is a fact. Captain Mcconnell, the Tennessee's skipper, tried to evade the Soviet ASW ship and her helicopters, but the water was too shallow to go deep.' Chambers stopped as the president indicated a question.
Were they in international waters at the time of this incident, by accepted maritime definition? The president waited for a response.
Yes sir. Barely. It could be argued extensively, but they were in international waters. No question.
Okay. Continue, Admiral.
Mcconnell tried to send a signal to the Constellation and got depth-charged again, so he followed the only rational decision available to him. Sir, I endorse his actions. Mcconnell acted to protect his crew and the submarine placed under his command.
He deserves a medal and a pat on the back. Mister President.
The president, looking somber, placed his elbows on the table, hands forming a peak, and thought a moment.
What's the Tennessee's condition. Admiral?
Minor damage. One of the helo drivers salvoed his depth charges on the Tennessee before the Tomcat splashed him. Just some bent fittings and a few puckered asses a few very frightened submariners, sir.
Chambers waited for the president to speak, aware of the silence surrounding them.
Zhilinkhov insists we are trying to start a war. Running over one of their subs and attacking a ship. Hell, sinking the goddamn ship! The president paused, calming before continuing.
We all know the score, but on the surface... The president looked at Chambers. On the surface, it would appear as if he is correct.
Wilkinson signaled for a coffee service to be sent in, then spoke to the president.
Sir, if we don't stand up, don't go into an alert status, they are going to continue to push until we make a mistake.
They're the ones who have broken the rules we've been playing by for the past thirty years. I recommend you initiate DEFCON-Three, then talk with Zhilinkhov. We've got to play hardball with this guy. We don't know what his real game is.
Wilkinson paused, studying the president, then continued.
Sir, Zhilinkhov is one tough bastard, The chief of staff looked directly into the president's eyes, sensing he had been successful in making his point. The room remained silent as a steward brought in the silver coffee service and quietly departed.
Okay, Admiral, the president said, looking toward Chambers.
Go to DEFCON-Three and brief me in three hours.
Yes, sir. Mister President, Chambers replied as he and the other service chiefs, quiet to this point, rose from their chairs and filed out of the office, leaving their coffee untouched.
The five men huddled in the anteroom adjoining the Oval Office, then quickly dispersed to oversee their assigned duties.
The stakes were rising in the nuclear cat-and-mouse game.
MOSCOW The general secretary placed the secure phone receiver down, turning slowly to face his four Politburo coconspirators and the minister of defense.
Zhilinkhov's grin spread across his face. The American has no idea, comrades.
The men exchanged pleased looks as the general secretary poured vodka in fresh glasses and pressed the service staff button.
Dimitri Moiseyevich Karpov, standing quietly in the hallway outside the general secretary's quarters, had been listening to the conversation.
The kitchen staff director hesitated an appropriate amount of time before responding to the service buzzer.
Zhilinkhov loosened his tie, then unbuttoned his collar.
They have implemented an alert-three status, their first step in preparation for war. We will continue to push them further, to defense condition two. If we can successfully continue to probe the American defense posture, including their alert-two status, we will enjoy the psychological advantage when we withdraw.
Zhilinkhov fell silent as Dimitri entered the room to fill his request.
Dimitri Moiseyevich, we will be served in my quarters this evening.
Have something special prepared for dessert. For now, send in the piroshki.
Yes, Comrade General Secretary. I will prepare your meal personally.
The piroshki will be no longer than five minutes.
Dimitri exited quietly and the vivacious conversation continued.
I am concerned, Dichenkovko said, about the loss of our antisubmarine ship. We cannot make any further mistakes.
Dichenkovko looked into Porfir'yev's eyes, then back to the general secretary. The defense minister cast his gaze toward the floor.
' We cannot afford to underestimate the Americans, Dichenkovko continued. W
e have the future of the Motherland at stake.
Zhilinkhov scowled. General Bogdonoff has ordered Fleet Admiral Vosoghiyan to submit a full report within twenty-four hours. I will not tolerate any more mistakes ... by anyone.
The general secretary smiled unexpectedly, then continued in an upbeat manner. Now, we will see what the American reaction will be when we sink their ship Virginia.
The group glanced at each other in concern.
Actually, my friends, Zhilinkhov said, ignoring the questioning looks, the loss of the Akhromeyev gives us the opportunity to press the Americans even closer. If we can confirm a fourteen-to sixteen-minute delay in the American decision and reaction time to our missiles, in their alert-two status, we have positive proof, comrades, that our first-strike initiative will work.
Zhilinkhov waited for a response. The Politburo members and the defense minister remained silent, contemplating the picture being drawn for them.
Zhilinkhov continued, sipping his vodka. If the Americans allow our forces to get any closer, especially in their alert-two status, we won't even need sixteen minutes before the United States reacts to our strike.
The general secretary wiped his mouth, then discarded the cloth napkin.
Our biological and chemical attacks will follow hours after the nuclear strike. We have targeted all major American military installations, including large overseas bases.
Zhilinkhov turned slightly to face the defense minister. Trofim Goryainovich, explain the projected results of our preemptive strike.
Porfir'yev's eyes narrowed as he slid forward in his chair to speak.
Comrade Doctor Svyatoslav Cheskiy, chief of the Soviet Academy of Sciences, estimates, conservatively, that we can expect to achieve a minimum of sixty-five to seventy-five percent neutralization of the Americans.
The defense minister paused, squinting even harder. That is, comrades, if their Star Wars system is malfunctioning, or incomplete.
It is imperative, Zhilinkhov said slowly and forcefully, that we execute our first-strike plan soon if we are to dominate the Americans.
We must take each step carefully, and follow our design precisely.
Snow fell lightly outside the massive double-paned windows as the six men digested the visionary goal. The fireplace emitted a comforting warmth as logs crackled and the embers glowed red and orange.
Trofim Filippovich, Dichenkovko addressed the defense minister, what did Doctor Cheskiy project our casualties to be? In the final analysis?
Porfir'yev paused while Dimitri entered the room and placed the six individual servings of piroshki on the low table next to the fireplace.
The young man turned toward Zhilinkhov, standing almost at attention.
Comrade General Secretary, you wish me to place more logs on the fire?
Dimitri waited, the ever-attentive domestic.
That will not be necessary, Zhilinkhov said gruffly. I will see to the fire this evening.
The senior kitchen servant exited as Porfir'yev prepared to answer the question of casualties.
Doctor Cheskiy has been consulting with Doctor Beryagin Lysinko, chief of the Kyrchatov Atomic Energy Institute. They estimate, at worst, we would receive a twenty-five to thirty percent destruction level.
Mainly the cities and military installations.
They believe the effects of radiation fallout will dissipate after eight to twelve months.
What about the consequences of nuclear winter? Zhilinkhov asked, chewing a fresh bite of piroshki.
Porfir'yev set his glass on the table and wiped his hands.
The doctors are convinced the effects of nuclear winter will disappear in forty-five to sixty days. They are confident the upper winds will dissipate the effects of nuclear winter faster than most scientists predict.
What is your estimate in regard to Soviet casualties? Dichenkovko asked.
My staff expects, at the outside, a thirty-five percent personal casualty loss, Porfir'yev replied uncomfortably. Approximately ninety million people.
Zhilinkhov paused, leaning over for a cigar and striking a match to it.
Inhaling deeply, the Soviet leader spoke in a strong, persuasive manner.
Comrades, listen to me clearly. The Soviet Union will never have a better opportunity than the present. The American technological advances have offset our numerical advantage.
Our empire, along with our satellite countries, will disintegrate unless we strike the United States very soon. No peredyshka, no breathing space. Our options are rapidly being depleted.
Zhilinkhov's cold eyes sought contact with each member of the inner circle. If we don't strike the Americans now, our Motherland will slowly strangle. Russia will die a lingering, agonizing death.
Zhilinkhov knew the Politburo members, even his detractors, professed fidelity to the revolutionary tradition of world dominance.
However, the Kremlin leaders tended to be conservative.
They were uncomfortable with uncertainty and unpredictability.
The current division in the Politburo had resulted from ambivalence in party planning.
The previous Soviet leader could not resolve the question of how to constrain the American Strategic Defense Initiative.
SDI was then, as it had been for several years, the most contentious issue in Soviet-American relations.
Comrades, the general secretary said, a first strike would enable us to dominate America, Europe, the entire world, overnight.
Literally overnight, without incurring unacceptable casualties or massive destruction.
Besides, our military assets will be dispersed at sea and in the air, except for the ground forces. We will retain sixty to seventy percent of our prestrike military capability. More than enough to handle any combination of adversaries. NATO forces will not present a problem once the Americans are neutralized.
And, Saudi oil will flow when we turn the valve.
Zhilinkhov carefully ashed his thick Cuban cigar, tapping gently on the crystal receptacle.
We can expect retaliation from the American submarines for a period of ... The general secretary sipped his drink, then noisily cleared his throat. Well, Marshal Bogdonoff and his staff are fully convinced the air defense and navy forces can deal with the residual effects of random retaliatory strikes.
The senior Politburo member, Aleksandr IF. Pulaev, quiet to this point, interjected a question.
' Viktor Pavlovich, how accurate can we expect the American retaliatory strikes to be?
Zhilinkhov inhaled deeply, looking up at the ceiling, then slowly released the blue smoke.
Our new commander of the Strategic Rocket Forces, General Bortnovska, is certain the Americans will only achieve ten to twenty percent accuracy with their missiles, after our massive strike.
Because of the satellite destruction? the senior Politburo member asked, clearly not convinced.
Absolutely, Zhilinkhov answered, puffing slowly on his cigar. When we launch our first strike, our ground-and space-based lasers should be able to destroy the American communications and navigation satellites.
We don't have to hit all the navigation satellites to make their targeting systems unreliable.
Zhilinkhov swirled the vodka in his glass. Just enough to make their guidance systems unstable.
The elder friend had another question worrying him, a very important political question. Viktor Pavlovich, does anyone-does Doctor Cheskiy, General Bortnovska, anyone besides the six of us, and Marshal Bogdonoff, know anything about this initiative? ' No, of course not, Zhilinkhov said in an impatient manner.
This information is the result of theoretical studies compiled by our most brilliant strategists and tacticians. The first-strike scenario is played every day in our Ministry of Defense. The military commanders believe these actions I have ordered are in response to escalating aggression by the Americans.
The room remained silent.
Initiative? Zhilinkhov said with a question in his eyes as he refilled his
glass. This is not an initiative. This is an all-out, massive nuclear strike on the United States.
The fire snapped, reminding the general secretary that he needed to resupply the grate. He unobtrusively stepped in front of his five friends and gingerly placed two logs on the glowing embers, showering sparks over his freshly shined shoes. Returning to his chair, Zhilinkhov proposed a toast.
Comrades, we are joined on the eve of the most important event in the history of our Motherland. Our countrymen will hail us for generations.We will provide our people an opportunity for productive and peaceful lives. A nuclear war can be won if we strike first. We will survive to rule the entire globe. World supremacy at last.
Comrades. We will be revered for all of history as the fathers of a modern Russia. A Russia without boundaries!
Zhilinkhov raised his glass in a salute to his five friends.
To the Motherland, my friends.
The general secretary beamed broadly. The Politburo quartet, accompanied by the defense minister, responded in kind, glancing cautiously at each other.
To a supreme Russia, comrades.
The resounding clink of crystal, as well as the entire conversation, had been clearly audible to the quiet figure standing in the hallway.
CAPE CANAVERAL
Rex Hays, alternately jotting notes and doodling, listened intently to the president's chief of staff. He had been surprised when Wilkinson called to brief him personally on the Russian situation.
Hays reflected on the contrast between Dave Miller and Wilkinson.
There was an intellectual chasm between the indefatigable Grant Wilkinson and the slovenly Miller.
Hays waited for an opening to ask his first question. Mister Wilkinson ' Grant, please.' The chief of staff did not care for ceremony or pomposity.
Grant it is. What do you think about moving the launch time up a day or two, along with an unpublished schedule?
Hays was thinking about an obvious Russian attempt to prevent the SDI satellites from reaching orbit.
We don't believe it makes any difference at this point, Wilkinson cleared his throat and continued. They know we're in DEFCON-Three and loaded for bear. The intelligence people believe Zhilinkhov is testing our defensive perimeters. Their scrambled message traffic has increased forty percent in the past forty-eight hours.