Chapter Thirty
Rows of seats in a semi-circle faced the dais. Draped behind the chairman’s seat hung the United States flag. Steven Jones, chairman of the house armed services committee called the meeting to order and welcomed the outside experts who would present their perspectives on nuclear deterrence policy. He made introductory remarks.
“We’ll go ahead and get started if everyone will grab their seats. Thank you, all, and I want to welcome our witnesses. We are here today to discuss the nuclear posture review and future nuclear policy.
“I think this is an incredibly important topic to discuss. Two things I want to make clear at the start. I completely support a strong and robust nuclear deterrent. We need nuclear weapons in the world that we live in today in order to deter our adversaries and meet our national security objectives as a country. Personally I don’t think that’s debatable. We have certainly Russia with its nuclear weapons, China as well; rising threats from North Korea and Iran. And the best and most straightforward way to deter people from using nuclear weapons is if you are in a position to assure that they will be destroyed if they do. So having a nuclear deterrent is incredibly important.
“Second our nuclear weapons have been around for a long time and I have no doubt that we need to upgrade and update those weapons, look at what is working, what isn’t working. We need to recapitalize our nuclear structure. What I question is whether we need to do it to the tune of 1.2 trillion dollars, as both the 2010 and 2018 nuclear posture reviews called into question. And this hearing, I hope, will help us answer that question. Do we have to have everything we had before plus what the administration is talking about adding?
“The congressional budget office just recently went through and analyzed all that is in the nuclear posture review and gave some options in terms of ‘we could not do that and here’s how much money we would save.’ Those are questions that need to be asked for several reasons. First of all, we have a twenty-two trillion-dollar debt that is going up by about a trillion dollars. In fact, it increased dramatically in the first quarter of this year over the first quarter of last year. We also have a large number of needs.
“We also have a large number of needs within the national security environment. Forget for the moment everything else that the federal government does.
“We’ve heard the secretary of the air force say she needs twenty-five percent more aircraft. Our missile defense program said we need a dramatic increase. The Navy still says it needs a three hundred fifty-five ship navy, which is significantly more than we have now. The Army would like to build toward an in strength, which is substantially larger than it is right now. That math doesn’t work. We are not going to have enough money to do all of that.
‘So we have to think, in part, what can we not do. Where can we save money? And within the nuclear weapons area I believe that a credible deterrent can be presented for less than is called for in the nuclear posture review.
“Now I understand that a bipartisan group of people disagree with me on that, but a bipartisan group of people agree with me so we’re here to have that discussion and that debate. So number one is can we save money here and still meet our national security objectives. Still deter our adversaries because, if we can, it’s something we should talk about. And these are things people have contemplated.
“Former secretary of defense, Jim Mattis, when asked if the triad was necessary said he wasn’t sure and talked about well if we had a dyad and didn’t have the ICBMs then we would have a much smaller risk of miscalculation based on a false alarm.
“A number of former defense officials, including former chairman of the armed services committee, Sam Nunn, former secretary William Perry, former secretary George Schultz have said that we are stumbling toward a nuclear catastrophe because we have not rebooted any arms control discussion or any sort of discussion with the Russians since the end of the cold war on how we prevent an accidental nuclear war.
“We are about to kick off another nuclear arms race.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Sylvia Wong, Senator Hennings’s girl Friday was assertive, if not aggressive, even at times disagreeing with him over one policy stance or another. Ordinarily polite but never submissive, she could curse as well as any soldier on the battlefield, but refrained from cursing in meetings with the senator. She was no fool. Her mother had taught her prudence, her father, cursing.
She’d heard some troubling news and asked to speak with him. He sat across from her, not at his boat-sized desk, with the room’s extra-large window behind him, but, like her, in a stuffed chair in the cozy sitting area.
“How’s your day going?” asked Hennings.
“Oh, fine, sir, except for that little situation I mentioned.”
He gestured for her to go on.
“As you know the chairman of the armed services committee is inclined to deny funding for the GBSD, though the composition of the house may change in the next election. But for the time being we have a political fight on our hands. Now, support in Minot for the replacement—I was going to say, ‘couldn’t be stronger’, but that’s not precisely correct. A tiny contingent of activists is campaigning not only against the GBSD but against the Minuteman itself. I don’t like it.”
“They will have absolutely no effect on the town’s support,” said Hennings.
“You are probably correct about that, sir. But I’m not thinking about the town. I’m thinking of all the senators and congressman who do not have missile wings in their states. The ICBM coalition is going to have a fight on its hands to get funding.”
“We’ve already contracted for the study,” said Hennings. “The ball is rolling. Our interest—I mean the coalition’s interest—is great enough that we’re willing to do some horse trading even if we’re at a disadvantage given that the other side knows how important this is to us.”
Sylvia Wong leaned slightly forward putting her hands, which had been resting on her lap, on her knees. The senator had granted her this private time and she was worried he might see her concerns as unrealistic or trivial.
“The protest has been written about in the Minot Daily News. These people are publicity savvy. One of them dresses like a witch and there’s this handsome young couple to draw in the youth set. If this goes on it may reach other state newspapers.”
Senator Hennings looked skeptical.
“The whole state wants the replacement, not just Minot.”
Was he really blind to the danger or was he just testing or teasing her?
“North Dakota has ten daily newspapers, eighty-two weeklies, and four alternatives. It has thirty-one TV channels. You can guess as well as I how many Facebook or Twitter users there are. If, like that virus, this protest jumps from the local paper to regional papers and then to national news, we’ll have an epidemic on our hands. Some people inevitably will question the need for this critical weapon system. If the general public is against it no horse trading will be possible.”
Hennings fleetingly touched his forehead with a knuckle as if to wake it up.
“You’re always giving me trouble, Sylvia. What do you propose doing about it?”
“I’d get in touch with the chamber of commerce and the newspaper. Explain that this sort of reporting is clearly not in the national interest. With a little oomph in the explanation.”
“Perhaps,” said Jennings, almost as if it were his idea, “you might speak to someone in the Chamber of Commerce, just to get the lay of the land, but don’t speak with anyone on the paper. I don’t think that’s kosher. And don’t forget that time the secretary of state cursed out a radio journalist after the interview and damn if she didn’t go describe the whole encounter on her next broadcast. Millions of people heard about his temper and his fondness for the f-word. No. No. Let’s leave the press out of this. Besides, it’s wrong, like I said, it’s wrong.”
It was not the president of the Chamber of Commerce she reached when she called, but instead a particularly a
vid member with no official position in the chamber, who, when he wasn’t in his office filling orders for building supplies, was hobnobbing with the town’s big wigs, or hanging around the chamber office. On this day, the president was out so the secretary had the long-time member take the call in the president’s office, noting that the man she was about to speak with was an alderman.
“Chamber of Commerce. Earnest Schmidt here.”
Ms. Wong introduced herself and then asked about the old woman and the two kids who were getting into the news. Who were they? How much influence did they wield? Were people paying attention to them? What did people think of them? Were they associated with any organized groups? Who were these groups?
Chagrined that Edna O’Hare was his sister-in-law, Earnest Schmidt did not mention it. He answered as best he could, reassuring her that no one was paying attention and that he wouldn’t be surprised if the paper ignored her from now on. She seemed pleased by this reassurance and shortly thereafter the conversation ended.
Unbelievable! Senator Hennings was making inquiries about Edna’s shenanigans. His pique at the old fool increased. She was going to make him look like a fool by association. He could hear their voices. “Do something about her.”
Discrediting her would be nice. What if she really thought she was a witch? Or just as good or better, what if everyone else thought she thought she was a witch. What if everyone thought she was crazy? Maybe he could even have her declared incompetent to handle her own affairs, so that Fiona could take charge of the farm. He knew, however, that he was as likely to get what was rightfully his as he was to grow wings and a halo.
He had to do something before people in the Chamber of Commerce or in the town council began associating her anti-GBSD stance with him.
He’d once watched a TV program in which family members angry at the patriarch tried to declare him insane. They said he claimed to be Odin, that he talked to the moon, that he’d started brewing mead, which was unpalatable, and could have been deadly if anyone had drunk any. Of course, this went nowhere. But there was an idea in it.
Schmidt was acquainted with a psychotherapist in town, Ted Swensen, a man who had no framed credentials on the wall of his office, and about whom rumors once circulated that he hypnotized clients and examined them to discover any tense muscles or under-active erogenous zones that might be contributing to their distress. Apparently only women benefited from these hands-on explorations. Eventually the rumors ended.
On entering the office Schmidt noted the flat leather sofa on which some people lay during their sessions. It would facilitate Swenson’s palpations of his clients, though like the rumors, the examinations likely had ended. After minimal small talk Schmidt made his proposal.
“That’s not the thing I ordinarily do, Ernie,” said Swenson, “Not that I couldn’t do it, you understand. It’s just that I’d have to work on it. And there’s no guarantee they’d print it.”
Writing an op-ed piece is usually something one does out of conviction; for example because the writer believes a certain candidate is unsuitable for public office; or that one must frequently wash one’s hands to reduce the chances of getting sick; or that the nearest extra solar planet is too far away for aliens to be buzzing us in flying saucers.
Some people write op-ed pieces to promote themselves, their cause, book, movie or play. It is not difficult to imagine, that some might write a piece because a hidden party has paid them for reasons of their own.
Ted Swenson had never written an op-ed article but couldn’t turn down Schmidt’s offer of a little hard cash.
“I’ll give you some key points,” said Schmidt, “but you’ll have to do the bulk of it.”
“There’s no guarantee they’ll publish it.”
“Let me worry about that.”
Swenson got to work. Writing this was harder than he thought it would be.
What do I know about witches? And why am I writing about them now? Heaven knows, I have had only a few women in my counseling practice over the years who identified themselves as witches or at least as practicing witchcraft, including sexual magic. But to understand and treat these few women, I have had to understand something of witchcraft myself so I did the research. I even obtained for myself some magical instruments: a boline, a wand, a pentacle, and a chalice. So, what do I know about witches? Some.
But why am I writing about witches at this time? Readers of the daily news making an educated guess will probably be correct. It is because we here in Minot again have a witch, or wannabe witch in our midst. Without identifying my former “witches,” I must say this, none of them professed an aversion to self-defense, indeed, their feelings of vulnerability led them to take up witchcraft in the first place. As for these clients’ mental problems, I won’t get into it.
Which brings us to the to the main topic. What’s wrong with our current public “witch?” For one thing—probably the main thing—she’s casting aspersions, if not spells, on the collection of rockets that has kept us safe for many years. She wants to get rid of them just like that. And to turn the town against replacing them.
Generally speaking, a psychological councilor should not make diagnoses of patients he or she hasn’t met, and I won’t except to say there’s something seriously wrong with this woman. I have no proof, but she may even be dangerous.
A simple argument: if a wicked person is adamantly against something, that something is probably good.
These are my own personal thoughts.
When Earnest Schmidt read what he considered a sorry excuse for an op-ed piece, he just laughed and handed it back to Swenson.
“I don’t know exactly what I had in mind, Ted, but there’s no way the paper is going to publish this. And what’s this stuff about sexual magic? Sounds a bit kooky to me.”
“I can take that part out.”
“Forget the whole thing.”
Indeed, Schmidt did not know what he had in mind when he asked Swenson to write this. All he knew was that it should be damning, should raise the possibility of a series of named psychiatric disorders, and should sound like a considered expert opinion.
“Hey,” said Swenson, “I spent valuable time writing this and it wasn’t easy. You owe me that money.”
“I said I’d pay you for the essay, but I’m not accepting it, so I don’t owe you anything.
“How did you ever become an alderman?”
“How did you ever become a counselor?”
They parted in a bipartite huff.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Makenna Washington’s small on-base apartment was not quite like home, indeed, very little like home, where her mother’s bucolic watercolors still hung in her old bedroom surrounding the big brass bed which dominated the room. She’d insisted she’d wanted one for her sixteenth birthday. Fortunately, her father found one in a secondhand store and it still cost a pretty penny, which she only discovered later. He’d also found a makeup table with an ornately framed mirror in carved oak. It doubled as a writing table.
She now sat on her plain bed, surrounded by bare walls of a nondescript tan, and called home, picturing her old room.
Her father answered, delighted to hear from her as he always was.
“How’s my rocket girl?” he asked in what had become a customary greeting. She wished it could have been “How’s my pilot girl?” but that’s not how things had worked out. He was still proud of her.
“Okay, Papa, but I have a little problem I’d like your opinion about.”
“Fire away. I have opinions to spare.”
She recounted her discovery of cheating on the proficiency exam. She had talked to someone who was a good listener, but she still didn’t know what to do.
“Sounds like you got to tell somebody. These launch people got control of all those bombs. We got to be able to trust them. If they cheating it means they don’t know their stuff. That’s bad. You don’t have to name your friend. Make up a story of how you found out.”
&nb
sp; This was exactly what she knew he would say. The value of asking him what she should do, she realized, was just hearing herself talk about the dilemma. Telling him the details of the situation would be no more valuable than describing the missiles themselves.
“Thanks, Papa. I’ll think about it some more. How’s everything going out there? I miss you.”
“I miss you, too, sugar. We all do. Just a minute. I’ll get Mama.”
Tyrone was still working for them. He hadn’t been dating anyone and was brooding about her, hurt at her decision to join the air force instead of going to college not far from the farm. He had never been interested in college. He enjoyed being outdoors, working on machines, and watching things grow. But he’d begun talking about a trade or technical school. He always asked how Makenna was doing when he heard she’d called them.
“Why don’t you write him?” asked her mother.
“I am writing.” But she always procrastinated before answering his letters because she didn’t want to keep his hopes up, but that was stupid, wasn’t it? And what would it be like when she returned home for a vacation. Life was complicated.
Makenna also told her mother about her dilemma, and for the same reason, to hear herself thinking aloud about it.
“Those are atomic bombs we’re talking about,” she said. “You want people in charge of those things to know what they’re doing. This is scary stuff, Makenna. You’re so smart. You’ll find a way to fix things up.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Edna began to get a trickle of phone calls. How people got her number she wasn’t sure. Most of the callers were upset with her and felt the need to voice their opinions, chief among them the necessity of replacing the Minuteman. She always tried to understand how the replacement would affect the caller personally. None of those with businesses sounded embarrassed when she noted that their laundry, restaurant, hotel, construction company or machine rental business—among others—would benefit by an influx of air force missile installers. Those who did not stand to profit personally, nevertheless mentioned others who would.
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