Defcon One (1989) (42 page)

Chambers sat up straight, shoulders squared, and looked into the president's eyes. Yes, sir.

SNAP!!

The broken pencil sounded like a rifle shot in the quiet, tense room.

Every person in the room flinched or jumped nervously.

Grant? the president asked, holding both ends of the severed pencil.

We have no choice! Wilkinson exclaimed sharply, then replied quietly.Mister President, I fully endorse the proposed preemptive strike. I will undoubtedly have nightmares for the rest of my life, but I have a responsibility. The choice has been made for us, sir, and that is a significant point. We must act to preserve our country and our freedom.

Susan? the president bluntly asked his second-in-command.

As painstaking as this is for me, for all of us, I agree with Grant and the Joint Chiefs, sir.

Cliff?' The president looked across the table at his secretary of defense.

' No other plausible choice, sir.' Howard cleaned his glasses, then replaced them on his nose. He adjusted the fit and met the president's stare. Time is running out. Mister President.

Herb? the president placed the broken pencil pieces on the table, then looked at his friend, the secretary of state.

You will have my resignation within the hour. Mister President.

Kohlhammer appeared saddened, as if he were grieving.

The president, surprise and pain written on his face, replied quietly, I understand. Herb.

Thank you, sir, Kohlhammer said in a low, dejected voice. It has been a pleasure serving you these past years. I would never have dreamed that ... I wish to be excused, Mister President.

Absolutely, Herb, the president responded, standing to offer his hand.Your efforts have been splendid, and I wish you every success in the future.

If we have a future, Kohlhammer replied, shaking the president's hand.

The remaining members of the staff stood in unison as the secretary of state left the room. Kohlhammer's sudden resignation had surprised everyone. He had always taken a hard line with the Soviets in previous matters.

Well, gentlemen, Susan, the president said, still standing.

I wish I could resign, too. But I can't do that, you see.

The president looked around the table before speaking again.

And do you want to know why?

No one made a sound, not sure if the leader of the American people was in the process of becoming unbalanced under the strain.

Because if I resign, my successor, the first female president of the United States, is going to step up and blast the Soviet Communist party off the face of the earth.

Grant Wilkinson glanced at Blaylocke, then back to the president.

Sir, you

Can it, Grant, the president replied testily, and start the plan in motion.

Wilkinson turned to Chambers. Admiral?

Yes, sir, replied the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. We are prepared to execute the strike in minimal time.

Zhilinkhov smiled slightly when his closest friend, and Inner Circle cofounder, Boris Dichenkovko, entered the massive room.

The former Politburo member, followed by Minister of Defense and General of the Army Trofim G. Porfir'yev, approached the general secretary's bed.

You are feeling better, Viktor Pavlovich? Dichenkovko asked, taking a seat in a large, stuffed chair next to Zhilinkhov's bed.

Da, much better, the stricken leader replied slowly, haltingly.

Our wonderful news has strengthened me, my friend.

Yes, Dichenkovko responded, looking up at Porfir'yev, then back to Zhilinkhov. The spies have been killed.

Aleksandr Pulaev and Yegoery Yevstigneyev joined the group. Their faces reflected apprehension.

I told you, Zhilinkhov said, slurring his words, that everything would be ... fine.

Yes, you did, Viktor Pavlovich, Dichenkovko said without emotion.

Now, you must rest, my good friend.

The general secretary attempted to smile again, but the result showed only on the right side of his face.

No, comrades, Zhilinkhov said in a strained voice, weakly motioning for the minister of defense to step closer. Now we launch the strike ...on the United States.

Porfir'yev, unsure of how he should respond, looked to Dichenkovko for guidance. No one said a word.

Zhilinkhov's cold eyes hardened. Give the order. General Porfir'yev.

This minute!

Dichenkovko hesitated, .then inhaled deeply. Viktor Pavlovich, we must

suspend our plan for

Enough! Zhilinkhov spat through clenched teeth. You have your orders.

General. Carry out my command, or you will be relieved this moment.

Porfir'yev, pale and wide-eyed, again looked to Dichenkovko for help.

Pulaev and Yevstigneyev turned aside, speechless.

Dichenkovko remained quiet, avoiding the defense minister's unspoken plea.

' General Secretary, Porfir'yev said slowly,' 'as the ranking member

of the Soviet armed forces, it is my duty to counsel you not to launch a

strike at this ti

The strike will be launched ... now, Zhilinkhov hissed, mustering his waning strength, with or without you.

General.

Give the order, or I will have Colonel General Vranesevic place you in custody.

Porfir'yev blanched, then stepped back in shock, his face contorted in rage. He paused, then found his voice. The order will be carried out.

Dichenkovko stood up and turned away from Zhilinkhov, slowly shaking his

head in resignation. Viktor Pavlovich, you

Give the order!

Zhilinkhov threatened, lamely pointing his finger at Porfir'yev.

The defense minister walked across the room to the private communications console and picked up the handset. Porfir'yev tapped in the number to Marshal Nicholas Bogdonoff, then waited for the chief of the general staff to answer.

Porfir'yev stared out the window at the gently falling snow, then heard Bogdonofts aide.

Porfir'yev. Give me General Bogdonoff.

The defense minister glanced at Zhilinkhov, men back out the window.

Eight seconds passed before Bogdonoff was on the line.

General Bogdonoff, Porfir'yev. Launch the strike. Operation Galaxy.

General Secretary's orders. Launch the strike.

NORAD Has this been authenticated? General Matuchek asked, unbelieving.

Canadian Lt. Gen. Jonathan Honeycutt, NORAD vice commander, slowly nodded his head. I'm afraid so, J.B.

Prepare for imminent strike? Matuchek asked Honeycutt.

I don't understand, John. Are the Soviets preparing to strike us, or are we going to launch a preemptive strike on Russia?

We, Honeycutt paused, looking left and right, are going to launch a first-strike, all-out effort.

Matuchek turned pale, gripped the side of his command console, then slowly sank into his chair.

What the hell is going on here? the NORAD commander absently asked his vice commander. Have they gone insane at the White House?

I'm afraid I don't know, J.B Honeycutt responded, glancing at the Top Secret Nuclear message in his hand. He read it again. All we can do is comply. It is authenticated.

White House, Presidential. Honeycutt placed the message folder on the console in front of Matuchek. We're about to hit the marbles, I'm afraid, Honeycutt said in a halting voice.

Matuchek placed his head in his hands. Read it to me again, John.

Honeycutt picked up the red folder, put his glasses back on, then read the Top Secret message to his boss.

021745ZFEB TOP SECRET NUCLEAR FROM: WHITE HOUSE. COMMANDER IN CHIEF AK42766/57CC TO : CINCSAC SUBJ : NUCLEAR PREEMPTIVE STRIKE SOVIET UNION REF : JCS OPTIONAL STRIKE CRITERION INFO : CINCNORAD CINCTAC 1.

NUCLEAR PREEMPTIVE STRIKE TO SOVIET UNION SCHEDULED 021820ZFEB.

EXECUTE PRIORITY ONE TRACKING AND TARGET ACQUISITION. MANDATORY CONFIRMATION ALL COMMANDS.

VALID AUTHENTICATION AT 021819ZFEB.

Matuchek rubbed the back of his neck, then slowly stood up from his console. Have the field commanders submit their status reports every five minutes, John.

Yes, sir, Honeycutt responded quietly, reaching across to his phone.

Oh, God, Matuchek said, suffering from acute anguish, Alice has no idea.

The NORAD commander was oblivious to the frantic activity taking place around him. Frightened faces looked up at the two generals, then to the twenty-four-hour clock over the status boards.

The Trident II fleet ballistic missile submarine, ninety-seven nautical miles due east of Karaginskiy Island, Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, cruised silently at a depth of four hundred feet.

The submarine was operating as the right flank of the carrier task force headed by the USS Constellation. The aircraft carrier, on full alert, had been flying sorties around the clock.

Ken, Capt. Mark Mcconnell said to his executive officer, Cmdr. Ken Houston, have the officers and Chief Booker report to the wardroom.

Yes, sir, Houston replied, simultaneously flipping the overhead PA switch. This is the executive officer. Captain Mcconnell requests all officers and the chief of the boat to report to the wardroom, on the double.

The captain and his XO sat in stunned silence as the officers and Booker hurried into the wardroom.

Ken, Mcconnell said quietly, have the stewards go to the general mess, then secure the hatch when the last man is out.

Aye aye, skipper, Houston replied, stepping into the galley.

Sit down, gentlemen, Mcconnell instructed in a subdued, almost inaudible voice.

Houston stepped back into the wardroom, dogging the hatch behind him.

All secure, sir.

Mcconnell nodded his head in acknowledgement, then spoke to the assembled men. Gentlemen, Mcconnell started slowly, I have a message an order, if you will from the president of the United States.Our commander-in-chief.

The captain looked around the table at the blank expressions.

The officers knew something strange was about to take place.

Mcconnell was more serious than anyone had ever seen him.

I'm going to read it to you. Mcconnell looked down at the message, then back to his officers. Then I will take questions, one at a time, beginning with Lieutenant Commander Lewandowski, proceeding clockwise around the table.

When Mcconnell finished reading the shocking message there was a look of bewilderment on every face gathered around the table.

We took an oath in order to join this service, Mcconnell said. We have been ordered, by our commander-in-chief, the president of our country, to strike the Soviet Union with every available missile on board. I don't know why, or what provocation brought this about ...

Mcconnell waited a few seconds before continuing. Does anyone in this room have a problem any problem with our orders? The orders I have to carry out?

No one uttered a sound. The officers were speechless, each trying to grasp the magnitude of the message.

Actually, Mcconnell placed the message on the table, you know as much about it now as I do. The strike is scheduled within the hour.

The engineering officer, Lt. Cmdr. Samuel Woolf, indicated he had a question.

Sam? Mcconnell responded.

Skipper, what about the men? Are you going to inform them? Woolf looked anxious, not sure what to expect after the stunning news.

Yes, absolutely, Mcconnell responded. After you return to your duty stations, I'll make the announcement. If we have any dissenters, or individuals who have philosophical differences, they will be placed in confinement until further notice.

Mcconnell looked at the shocked officers. If there are no further questions, you are dismissed.

The group rose to their feet, confusion written on every face. The shocking order, along with the consequences, were difficult to understand in such a short time frame.

Mcconnell turned to his XO as the officers and Chief Booker filed out of the wardroom. Well, Ken, Mcconnell said with sadness in his eyes, the unthinkable is going to happen in forty-three minutes. Our world, as we knew it when we left port, is going to be changed forever.

Houston didn't respond. He couldn't trust his voice, or his emotions.

Chapter
Twenty.

The two F-15 pilots had eaten a snack and rested while their fighters were refueled. Their relief pilots had returned to Flight Operations for assignment to other aircraft. Air Force Maj. Enrico Digennaro was not about to give up his fighter if the balloon went up.