by Allen Drury
“He has vetoed the Congressional resolution calling for aid to Russia, and he is safe from political reprisal in doing so. The veto cannot be overridden, and it was, in any case, simply an advisory to him, not a mandatory requirement.
“But it was mandatory in the sense that it represented the overwhelming desire of the American people to stand with our gallant Russian friends in defense of all the traditions, the history and the culture of our mutual civilization. It was mandatory in the sense that it represented the firm belief of most Americans that it is absolutely vital that Russia be saved and the yellow hordes of China be driven back within their own borders.
“This newspaper now believes that the West, unless the President changes his stand within the day or possibly even the hour, is doomed, and with it, this land we love.
“We beg Orrin Knox—for that is all that is left us, to beg, since he will apparently not listen to our most urgent admonitions—to save Russia, to save the West, to save us.
“Do not let us go under, Mr. President! Help us! The need is terribly desperate and the hour is desperately late.…”
“Orrin Knox, stubborn to the end—and the end looks to be just around the corner—” the Post said in a similar extraordinary extra that afternoon, “is apparently adamant in his refusal to take America into the war in time to save our gallant Russian allies.
“In so doing he is condemning not only Russia but the West, including his own country, to death at the hands of the pagan hordes now swarming out of China toward the very gates of Europe.
“If Russia goes down, as now seems very likely, those gates will stand open. Through them will pour the yellow tide. Once Europe has been subjugated the tide will flow into the Pacific Basin. And then will come the turn of the United States of America, which no one, as President Shulatov so accurately said in his eloquent appeal to Congress, will be left to save.
“No one at all.…
“The President was within his rights to veto the purely advisory Congressional resolution urging aid to Russia. His veto cannot be overridden, and there is no time for the cumbersome process of impeachment some are advocating, even though we agree that in all justice it should be done.
“Apparently he will impose his will. But what a will it is!
“If he has his way—
“Russia will be lost.
“The West will be lost.
“We will be lost.
“The world will be lost.
“Aside from the brief period when he was showing true statesmanship in his journey to Moscow and Peking and in the United Nations, we have always been actively opposed to Orrin Knox. We believe we were justified, and we believe our temporary endorsement of his policies was a sad mistake, since underneath he was apparently the same old reactionary illiberal conservative we always saw in him.
“But today we beseech him, if he has an ounce of feeling left for his own country and for Western civilization—
“Save Russia from the onrushing yellow hordes of China, pagan, heathen, illiterate, barbarian!
“Save the West!
“Save the world!”
“Save us!…”
“Here on Capitol Hill,” Frankly said in a special late-afternoon roundup on Congressional opinion, “it can only be said that enormous apprehension, possibly even terror, grips a majority of the Congress. Based on the phone calls and telegrams members are receiving, the same can undoubtedly be said of a majority of the American people. This country and most of its leaders are scared to death, and with complete justification. For the hordes of Genghis Khan are descending once more upon the West.
“Gallant and alone, Russia at this moment holds the frontiers of Western civilization against the advancing yellow tide from China. Even as I talk, those frontiers are crumbling all along the vast, chaotic battle line. Russia is being pushed back—and back—and back—and back. If the rout continues, it can only end very swiftly in her complete surrender. And after that, Europe lies open to the terrible tide.
“Once Europe goes, most here are convinced, the Pacific will go, and then, in due course, an isolated and completely alone America. And thus will the policies of Orrin Knox have borne their last, bitter fruit.
“Congress did what it could when it passed the resolution of aid to Russia just vetoed by the President. It does not have the votes to override his veto, it does not have the time to impeach him, as some demand. It cannot force his hand further. For whatever outcome fate has in store, Orrin Knox is in complete and unchallengeable command of the destinies of Russia, America and the world.
“It is no wonder, then, that most here are united now in one universal appeal which might be expressed in these words:
‘“Save us, Mr. President! Save Russia! Save the West! Save your own country, and save the world!’…”
“The fate of the world,” Walter Dobius wrote rapidly in the special office maintained for him by his friends at the Post, “rests now with one stubborn, unyielding, unimaginative American politician who, with Russia dying, continues to act as though he could operate entirely independently of her fate.
“Orrin Knox, having risen briefly to statesmanship during his ill-fated journey to Moscow and Peking, has reverted to type. All humanity is likely to suffer. If he ever had qualities of greatness—which some in this now frantic city mistakenly thought for a few days—then they were not enough to stand the test of true crisis.
“For this, his country, the Russians and the West are likely to suffer most grievous and probably final damage in the days immediately ahead.
“At this very moment the Russian retreat is approaching full rout. President Shulatov was deadly accurate and in deadly earnest when he told us this a few short hours ago. The only bastion that now stands between Western civilization and the oncoming pagan tide of China is falling. Our history, our culture, our traditions, our very lives and freedom stand in the ultimate jeopardy before the barbarian yellow hordes that continue steadily on across the icy plains, in a wave of hatred and anger for the West that have turned them, as President Shulatov said, into an animal force that Russia apparently cannot withstand alone.
“A great beast is coming out of China to fall upon the West. And the President of the United States of America refuses to commit the only power left that can possibly force it back into its lair.
“Here in this fear-haunted capital, and indeed everywhere in America and throughout the world, all hearts, all minds, turn to the White House and the man who resides there. Will he really let Russia fall? Will he really let China conquer her and then move on into Europe, into the Pacific, eventually into America itself? Will he really let Western civilization, and soon the world, be destroyed?
“It seems impossible to believe. On every side the universal cry goes up to Orrin Knox:
“‘Save the Russians! Save the West! Save America and all humanity!’
“Obdurate, stubborn and unimaginative though he may be, Washington cannot quite believe that the President will finally refuse that appeal, which comes from everywhere.…”
So said Supermedia, and so, as reports came in from all over the country, said an impressive majority of Middlemedia and Minimedia as well. Editorials, columns, broadcasts—letters, telegrams, telephone calls—riots by NAWAC and spontaneous protests by less-organized groups—sentiment respectable and sentiment suspect—all seemed to be running two to one for intervention following his veto.
There were still, he knew, great reservations among many of his countrymen, an intellectual horror of atomic war, an instinctive gut desire to stay out. Had he time to muster it, there was probably a sizable body of support for his policy. But this was all being drowned out in the great hysteria that was sweeping America and the West.
He read the papers, watched the broadcasts, received reports on the mail and the protests, began to hear in steadily swelling numbers from the frantic heads of other governments.
From everywhere came an insistent, steady, desperate drumbeat:
Help us! Protect us! Preserve us! Save us!
From the White House, silent, remote, mysterious and unknowable, its floodlit portico gleaming softly in the misty winter dark, there came, at his orders, not a word.…
Shortly before 10 p.m. new extras reached the streets. And now the bell seemed truly tolling, for the Russians, for the West, for him and his country, for everyone.
Second Russ government falls! New military junta takes over! Shulatov, cabinet slain!
New leaders say: “We will fight to the last Russian.”
President Lin retorts: “When we kill the last Russian there will still be ten Chinese.”
Final stages of death struggle appear about to begin as yellow tide rolls on.
3
“Orrin—” familiar voice said, and on the screen of the Picturephone the familiar, craggy old face looked tired and exhausted, as tired and exhausted as he was, as the whole world seemed to be in this haunted hour nearing midnight. “Do you need any company down there?”
“Thanks, Bill,” he said gratefully, “but I’ve got plenty. People are running in and out of here on shuttles with intelligence reports, news bulletins and what-have-you. I’m swamped in company. In fact, I think in a few minutes I’m going to kick them all out and just try to think for a while.”
“It doesn’t look good, does it?” the ex-President said gloomily, and he responded with a sigh.
“No. It does not look good. What would you do, Bill?”
“I’m beginning to think,” William Abbott said slowly, “that I might—I just might—go in, Orrin. I never thought I’d come to that conclusion, but in the last couple of hours I have. I hate to see us do it, but—it may be we cannot survive in the long run if we permit the balance to be upset so terribly as it seems about to be.” He too sighed. “It’s a hellish thing. I’m sorry to complicate it more for you by putting myself on the other side, particularly at this moment. But this is the moment when it has to be decided, isn’t it? One way or the other, it can’t wait much longer.”
“One way or the other,” he echoed quietly, “it can’t wait much longer. I agree with you, this is indeed the moment.…Suppose I were to intervene—and,” he added quickly as his predecessor gave him a sudden sharp look, “I haven’t decided yet, though I know I’m going to have to sometime before this long night is over—suppose I were, how should I go about it? Suppose you were me, as in a sense you were and still are, of course, the only other man living who genuinely understands this job from the inside—how would you do it? Where? When? On whose behalf?”
“I wouldn’t want to presume to tell you—” the ex-President began, but he interrupted, “I’m asking, Bill.”
William Abbott looked away for a long moment into far distances. Then he looked back.
“I keep remembering,” he said finally, “a tired old patrician in Mandarin robes saying that he would go to Geneva.”
“Yes,” the President said gravely, “I keep remembering him too. But that was a long time ago, Bill, as history has moved these past few days. And how much of this—this”—he gave an ironic, unamused smile—“how much of this ‘yellow tide’ can he control at this moment? He’s let the beast loose, to quote our friends of the Post, and I’m very doubtful that he and his colleagues have any real control of it any longer. It will go until it exhausts itself, and by that time he may not be there any longer, either. Right?”
“It will go until it exhausts itself,” William Abbott said softly, “or until it meets a real stone wall.”
“Yes, I agree with that.”
“And if it meets a stone wall, and simultaneously the old Mandarin and his government are strengthened in their control by the most affirmative and vigorous measures of support coming from the Pacific side—”
He nodded.
“It could just possibly be done. On the other hand, if he cannot keep control in the next few days and if the tide tosses up new leaders as fanatical as itself—and Russia really does go down altogether—and Europe and the West do lie open—and we in time do become the beleaguered citadel.…”
“The man wants certainties,” Bill Abbott said with a momentary humor. The President smiled, a brief second of relaxation in the midst of so much chaos. Then his expression turned serious again.
“The man would like to have them,” he conceded, “but he knows they aren’t available. There is a lot to be said for siding with the Russians, Bill, difficult and hostile as they have always been, under whatever government. They are the West’s ‘bastion,’ feeble though it is. They are occupying the space between, certainly not very effectively, but at least they’re there, a buffer, a mass, something for the tide to exhaust itself against sometime soon. They are, as our frantic friends from the media now advise us, part of our general Western heritage and culture. They are ‘like us’ and the Chinese are ‘not like us.’ So maybe the liberals have a point: maybe we should make the decision in Russia’s favor.”
“And with a new government in charge now, apparently a fighting government—perhaps if the tide meets a stone wall with a strong Russian government on the other side of it, a fighting government that has our very strong and vigorous support—”
“And a government in Peking that would have very strong and vigorous opposition coming from the Pacific side—” Again he nodded. “It could just possibly be done.… Those, I take it, are the options as you see them?”
“Pretty much the only viable ones now, I think,” Bill Abbott said, “because though I know you have most sincerely tried, Orrin, I don’t really think nonintervention is any longer feasible. Don’t you agree?”
It was his turn to look far away, while several long and obviously difficult moments passed. Then he nodded slowly, for the third time.
“Yes,” he said, forced by events to concede at last. “I agree.…”
“And so?” the ex-President asked.
“And so,” he said with a return of some of their old joshing humor, “I think you have contributed greatly to my confusion—or possibly my clarification. I don’t really think you would want me to give you a preview of what I intend to do, though. Or would you, Bill?”
The ex-President smiled.
“Not if you don’t know yet, Orrin,” he said.
The President smiled back.
“That’s right,” he said. “But stand by, Bill. I may want you down here at any time.”
“Any time at all,” William Abbott said. “The only thing I might presume to urge is that you decide fast.”
“Before the night is over,” he said quietly. “And that’s a promise.”
Before he reached that moment, however, there were other calls, most of which he refused, a few of which he accepted. He cleared his office of official intruders, gave word he was not to be disturbed until further notice. In the next half hour Bob and Dolly Munson, Warren and Mary Strickland, Lafe and Mabel Anderson, the Vice President and Sarah and Ceil and Valuela, all called with concern, sympathy and support. All the men were gravely worried. The women, he could tell, were quite genuinely terrified of what might be coming next. Yet all gave him proof of friendship that strengthened him enormously: all were selflessly concerned with his feelings, his mood, his confidence, his courage: all were brave. The last call he accepted before returning to the Mansion came from an old and often difficult friend for whom he felt, nonetheless, a strong regard and a deep affection.
The little Justice looked as tired as any, but his perky spirit remained unchanged.
“Orrin—” he began. “Mr. President—”
“Orrin will do, Tommy. How nice of you to call.”
“How nice of you to accept my call,” Justice Davis said. “When you have such terrible things to decide.…”
“Help me decide them,” he offered, and for once was surprised by Tommy’s response: he refused.
“No, sir,” he said firmly, “I will not. Now, that doesn’t mean that I don’t sympathize and don’t want to help, Orrin, b
ut I just don’t feel it’s my proper place to give advice. And anyway,” he confessed with a sudden smile that lightened the moment, “I don’t know what I would advise if I did advise. That,” he said, starting his sentence lightly but ending abruptly somber, “is how scared I am.”
“Don’t be scared, Tommy,” the President said, moved by this show of desolation from one normally so bright and chipper. “At least, don’t admit you are.”
“Aren’t you?” the little Justice asked, giving him a look at once shrewd and oddly humble.
“As hell,” he acknowledged quietly. “But I’m not going to show it for one minute.”
“You couldn’t,” Tommy Davis said fervently. “It would absolutely devastate us all.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” he said, and meant it. “Of course, I do want your advice, as always. Bill Abbott and I were discussing a couple of options a little while ago. Tell me what you think of them.…”
“Well,” Tommy said slowly when he had finished, expressing no surprise that nonintervention seemed to be no longer among them, “I think those ideas pretty well cover what’s available.”
“Which one, or which combination of them, should I follow?”
“You know my sympathies in general have always been with Russia,” Justice Davis said frankly. “Not that I liked their old system, or their new one, either, for that matter, such as it is, but just because I felt that we simply had to get along with them if the world was not to be blown apart.” His eyes widened thoughtfully and he spoke in a musing tone. “I suppose it never really occurred to me that it might be blown apart by them and the Chinese. I suppose it never really occurred to any of us liberals that anything like that could actually happen. Oh, we knew it intellectually, but we have always been so quiveringly sensitive about the possibility that the world might be blown apart by the Russians and us that we pushed the other possibility into the backs of our minds. We were always so harshly critical of what our own country did because we thought it would make the Russians angry and so increase the chances for world disaster. We took China more or less for granted, off there on the side—although rationally, of course, we always knew the chance was there.…And now it’s come.”