by Peter George
‘Roger.’ King reached forward and set the clock to 83.
BURPELSON AIR FORCE BASE
Group Captain Mandrake walked across General Ripper’s office and stopped in front of Ripper’s desk.
General Ripper lit a cigar. Then he said thoughtfully, ‘Group Captain, you think this officer exchange plan between the USAF and the RAF is a good one? I mean, you like it with us?’
‘Well of course, sir,’ Mandrake said. ‘Naturally.’
‘Then in that case,’ Ripper said, ‘would you please realise you do not have any special prerogative to question orders from your commanding officer?’
And with that, Ripper got up from his seat and said, ‘Pardon me for a moment, Group Captain,’ walked across the room, his massive body shaking the floor as he walked, and disappeared into the bathroom that was attached to his office.
Mandrake was suddenly startled by the sound of the Red telephone. He picked up the phone and said, ‘This is Burpelson.’ He listened to the message from the other end and said, ‘Why no, I didn’t know that! I mean to say, there isn’t any threat? He’s done it without orders? No, I don’t know any more. He’s in the bathroom at the moment – I’ll contact him as soon as he comes out... Well dammit, it is rather awkward to disturb one’s commanding officer when he’s in the bathroom, isn’t it?... Well I mean, what’s he going to say about one in his annual report?’
Mandrake listened to the blistering reply, winced, and hung up the telephone. He was more than ever sure that these Americans were coarse and vulgar people. But that did not affect the seriousness of the message he had received from the SAC operations controller.
General Ripper came back from the bathroom. Mandrake said slowly, ‘Sir, with respect, I have an unpleasant duty to do. I have to ask you why you have sent the wing to attack Russia?’
‘Because I thought it proper, Group Captain.’ Ripper’s voice was soft. ‘Why else do you think I’d do it?’
Mandrake started forward impulsively, then paused as he saw that on the other side of the desk Ripper had produced a .45 automatic, which was pointing at him. From a distance of four or five feet the muzzle of a four-five is unpleasantly wide. Mandrake retreated a pace, then another.
Ripper said pleasantly, ‘Now please, don’t try to leave the room, Group Captain.’ Mandrake swallowed.
He was eight feet from Ripper now, but the muzzle of the four-five still looked unpleasantly large. He said stiffly, ‘Are you threatening a brother officer with a gun, sir?’
Ripper laid the gun down on the surface of his desk. ‘Now look,’ he said soothingly, ‘just cool off, Group Captain Mandrake, and pour me a grain alcohol and rain water. Help yourself to whatever you like.’
Mandrake crossed the room to the drink cabinet and began to pour out the drinks.
Ripper watched the process with approval. While Mandrake poured he said, ‘Relax, Group Captain. There’s nothing anyone can do about it now. I’m the only man who knows the code.’
Mandrake uncorked a bottle of the General’s rainwater. ‘How much rain water, sir?’
‘About half and half.’
Mandrake poured the appropriate amount of rain water into the glasses, then carried them across to the General’s desk. He passed one of the glasses to the General, who smiled benevolently and accepted the drink with his left hand, while keeping his right hand over the butt of the automatic that lay on the desk. He said, ‘And now let’s drink a toast, Group Captain.’
Years of training had their effect. Mandrake snapped to attention and waited respectfully for the General’s toast.
Ripper said, holding up his glass. ‘To peace on earth and to the purity and essence of our natural fluids.’ They touched glasses and both of them drank.
Mandrake finished his drink in one gulp. After the realization had come to him that the General had done this thing, there was an inevitable period of shock. His eyes were marbled, and his whole nervous system was reacting violently against the incredibility of the act. Yet, as he looked at Ripper’s relaxed, confident face, he knew that incredible or not, it had been done and this man had done it. Was he right? Was it the thing to do?
Group Captain Mandrake simply did not know. On the one hand he liked and admired Ripper, who had not been just a C.O. but a friend to him all the time he had been at Burpelson. On the other, his mind rejected with horror the inevitable consequences of Ripper’s action.
His thoughts, chaotic at first, slowly took coherent form. He said, ‘But look here, General Ripper, with respect, sir, surely you must know the wing can’t suppress Russian retaliation on its own. The Reds will hit back with everything they’ve got, and we know, you and I, that’s plenty.’
Ripper permitted himself the luxury of a small smile. He was fond of Mandrake, and had enjoyed having him as executive officer. But Mandrake could not appreciate the delightful ripeness of his plan without explanation. General Ripper prepared to give it to him, at the same time savouring in his mind the beautiful artistic balance of the scheme he had devised.
‘Now you give it some thought, Group Captain. We will be hit hard only if we don’t strike in full strength and at once.’ He paused, then continued. ‘And that’s exactly what we shall do.’
‘I don’t see how you can possibly know that, sir.’
General Ripper examined the glowing end of his cigar with satisfaction. ‘Group Captain Mandrake,’ he said, ‘at this very moment while we sit here and chat so enjoyably, I can assure you a decision is being made by the President and the Joint Chiefs in the War Room at the Pentagon. When they realise there is no possibility of recalling the wing, there will be only one course of action open to them. Total commitment!’ As he spoke, Ripper emphasized his words by beating the side of his fist on the desk. Mandrake watched him, as hypnotically fascinated as a rabbit by a snake. He wondered if the General was right, if even at this moment a major strike against Russia was under way. He thought it probably was. Ripper seemed completely confident what action the President would take.
Mandrake said hesitantly, ‘Well, I suppose you may be right, General.’
‘You’re damned right I’m right,’ Ripper said furiously. His eyes narrowed and he looked at Mandrake with a strange expression. ‘Are you a communist, Group Captain?’
‘Oh, good lord no, sir,’ Mandrake said indignantly. ‘I’m an officer of the Royal Air Force.’
Ripper nodded his head wisely. ‘Just what I meant. The RAF is full of commies, you know that, Group Captain?’
Mandrake was too shaken to make any reply.
Ripper went on. ‘You know, Group Captain, I visited a lot of RAF bases during the war. You know what I saw written on the walls at a lot of them?’
Mandrake shook his head dumbly.
‘“Joe for King,” Group Captain, that’s what I saw. Saw it plenty times. And Joe was J. Stalin, Group Captain, remember that, Joseph Stalin. And you guys in the RAF wanted him for king. How do you explain that, if you aren’t all commies?’
‘I assure you,’ Mandrake said faintly, ‘it was just a joke. You know, people in the Royal Air Force sometimes have a strange sense of humour.’
Ripper’s mood abruptly changed. He smiled at Mandrake and said affectionately, ‘Well now, Group Captain, I can understand that. Some people say I have a strange sense of humour myself.’
THE WAR ROOM
President Muffley had thought at length about the information he had been given by Turgidson and other advisers. He made his decision. ‘Get Premier Kissof on the Hotline!’
As Staines picked up a phone and spoke into it, the President began to give orders to various aides. He ordered a complete communications system set up between the Pentagon and the Kremlin. It included a dozen telephone circuits, radios, and teleprinters. He gave the orders fast and decisively, brushing aside an objection that maintenance and installation men might not be on duty at that hour of the morning in Washington.
‘So get them out of bed,’ he snapped, then turn
ed to General Turgidson, who had again risen to his feet.
General Buck Turgidson was feeling confident. The President, he thought, could hardly deny the logic of what he was about to say. He knew that the President would probably not sympathize with his views. Privately Turgidson considered the President altogether too soft with the commies. But he was bound to agree with the rightness of Turgidson’s views on subsequent action.
He smiled his usual preliminary smile and began. ‘Mister President. One: Our hopes for recalling the planes are quickly being reduced to a very low order of probability. Two: In less than fifteen minutes the Russkies will be making radar contacts with them. Three: When they do, they will go absolutely ape and strike back with everything they’ve got. Four: If prior to this we’ve done nothing further to suppress their retaliatory capabilities, we will suffer virtual annihilation. I believe our recent studies of this contingency indicated in round numbers upwards of a hundred and fifty million killed in the United States. Five: If, on the other hand, we immediately launch a coordinated and all-out missile attack on their airfields and missile bases, we stand a damned good chance of catching them with their pants down. Hell, we’ve got a five-to-one missile superiority and we can easily assign three missiles per target and still have a very effective reserve force for any other contingencies. Six: An unofficial study which we undertook of such an eventuality indicated we would destroy ninety per cent of their nuclear capabilities. We would therefore prevail and suffer only modest and acceptable civilian casualties from their remaining force, which would be badly damaged and completely lack the degree of co-ordination necessary for a decent and balanced striking force.’
General Turgidson remained standing and smiled confidently at the President. The force of his argument must surely convince the President of the only possible policy for him to adopt, he thought.
President Muffley looked up. He said coldly, ‘General Turgidson, it is an avowed policy of our country that we will never strike first with nuclear weapons.’
‘Yes,’ General Turgidson said, ‘but don’t you agree General Ripper has already invalidated that policy?’
‘That was not an act of national policy,’ President Muffley said angrily. ‘It was done without my authority and there are still alternatives open to us. You say that there is a difference between striking first and pre-empting a Russian first strike, which you feel certain will be coming. But even if we struck first we would still suffer horrible civilian casualties.’
‘Well now,’ Turgidson said, ‘I’m not saying we wouldn’t get our hair mussed, Mister President, but I do say not more than ten to twenty million dead depending on the breaks.’
‘General, you’re talking about mass murder, not war.’
‘Mister President, we are rapidly approaching a moment of truth, for ourselves as human beings and for the life of our nation. Truth is not always a pleasant thing, but it is necessary now to make a choice. To choose between two admittedly regrettable but nevertheless distinguishable post-war environments – one where we lose twenty million people, and the other where we lose one hundred and fifty million people.’
President Muffley said, ‘I do not intend to go down in history as the greatest mass murderer since Adolf Hitler.’
General Turgidson’s smile disappeared. He said quickly, ‘Perhaps it might be better, Mister President, if you concerned yourself more about the American people than your image in history books.’
Turgidson’s last speech was too much for the President to take. His headache was worse, and the necessity of dealing with people like Turgidson made it no better. He slammed his fist on the table and said, ‘General Turgidson, I think we’ve heard from you sufficiently on this.’ He glared at the General, who slowly sank down into his seat and then ostentatiously picked up a telephone and began to talk into it rapidly.
The President watched him for a moment, then turned aside to Staines. He said, ‘Find out what’s happening with that call to the Premier.’
Staines, glancing at the Big Board as he went, crossed the room to the guarded door. He opened it and went out of the War Room.
President Muffley looked again at Turgidson, who was still talking rapidly into his telephone, and then addressed Admiral Randolph. ‘I think I’d like a few more opinions. How about you, Admiral, do you agree with the General?’
Admiral Randolph, a neat and precise man, trimly dressed in gold-braided naval uniform, was visibly embarrassed by the President’s question. He shook his head doubtfully and said, ‘I don’t know... I just don’t know.’
Staines came back into the room and quietly slid into his seat near the President, who looked at him inquiringly. Staines said, ‘They’re working on it, but no positive news yet.’
The President acknowledged Staines’s message, then turned to the representative of the Central Intelligence Agency, Bill Stover. ‘Bill, how about it?’
Stover replied without hesitation. ‘It’s a difficult one, all right, but I guess I’ll have to go along with your thinking, Mister President.’
The President now looked at the Army Chief of Staff, General Faceman.
Faceman said slowly, ‘I see what General Turgidson’s getting at, but it’s rough.’ He paused and rubbed his large hand over his face, which he had not had time to shave before he came to the War Room. Then he said, ‘I’ll just have to pass on this one, Mister President.’
Staines picked up one of his phones in response to the quiet but unmistakable tone of its buzzer. He listened for thirty seconds to the agitated voice at the other end, then covered the speaker of the phone with his hand. He said, ‘Mister President, they’ve got the Ambassador waiting upstairs.’
‘Good, good. Any difficulty?’
Staines replied, ‘They say he’s having a fit about that squad of military police.’
President Muffley dismissed the matter as unimportant with a cutting motion of his hand. ‘It can’t be helped,’ he said. ‘Have him brought down here right away.’
Staines spoke rapidly into the telephone.
General Buck Turgidson jumped up again. ‘Mister President, is that the Russian Ambassador you’re talking about? Are you actually going to let him into the War Room?’
The President inclined his head. ‘That is correct General. He is here on my orders.’
Turgidson said gravely, ‘Well, sir, I don’t know quite how to put this, but are you aware what a serious breach of security that would be. I mean, he’ll see everything.’ He gestured dramatically toward the central display, where the tracks of the encroaching bombers had now moved appreciably farther. ‘I mean, he’ll see the Big Board.’
President Muffley looked at Turgidson without affection. But his voice was patient. ‘That is precisely the idea, General,’ he said. ‘That is precisely the idea.’
Strangelove pondered this. He was of course familiar with the jargon of the nuclear strategists. Indeed, he himself had created a great deal of it. He decided, for the moment, to say nothing. Later he would have an opportunity to speak, but at this time his acute brain was fully concentrated on watching the changing displays which were recording the progress of the bombers, as well as the increasing Russian air and submarine threat.
LEPER COLONY
Inside Leper Colony, heading in toward enemy territory, the crew had reached the stage of preparation at which the major task of aiming the two weapons was necessary.
Lieutenant Lothar Zogg, the bombardier, received the word from King and depressed one of his master switches. He noted the light that winked on and said, ‘Bomb-arming circuits are green.’
King nodded with satisfaction. He was like a fighter, eagerly anticipating a fight he knew he was going to win, who had reached the point where his handlers were beginning to tape his hands. This was the essential preliminary to combat. They had done it many times on training missions, and in synthetic trainers on the ground at Burpelson. But this was for real. This was it! King said happily, ‘Okay, Dietrich, you all right
back there?’
Dietrich’s voice was calm and confident. ‘Right, King.’
The actual arming of the bombs, which converted them from inert masses of metal into the most potent of lethal weapons, required action by three separate crew members. Naturally King, as command pilot, was one. Lothar Zogg, as bombardier, was another. And Lieutenant Dietrich was the third. This was another safety device which had been built into the bomber, an example of cautious planning which insured that no single person could, through some unbalanced decision, start a war on his own.
King said crisply, ‘Primary arming switch.’
Dietrich repeated the order and simultaneously he and King depressed a switch on the bomb-arming equipment each of them had in front of him. The switch, guarded by a safety trip, was marked number one.
On the bombardier’s control panel two green lights glowed. Lothar Zogg depressed his own switch. He looked sideways and grinned at Sweets Kivel who was taking an intelligent interest in the procedure. Zogg said, ‘Primary circuit is live.’
‘All right, then,’ King said, ‘primary trigger switch.’
As before, Dietrich repeated the order, and he and King both depressed their switches. Two more green lights glowed on Zogg’s control panel. He depressed his own trigger switch, and a third green light appeared. He said, ‘Primary trigger switch is live. Shows three greens.’
Lieutenant Dietrich’s part in the arming was now finished. He played absently with the tuning control of his main radar while he listened to the remainder of the procedure carried out by King and Lothar Zogg.
Zogg said, ‘Release first safety.’
They both operated their switches. Two lights again glowed on the safety bank of the panel. The same procedure was repeated for the second safety device. On the safety bank a second pair of lights came on. Only one pair now remained unlit.
It was now necessary to fuse the bombs so they would detonate at the required altitudes. Since they had two targets, it was standard operating procedure that the primary bomb was set first; but in this case, since their secondary target was close to the primary, King ordered both bombs to be fused at once.
