The Building was like a ship in troubled waters, constantly buffeted by the gales of discord that blew in from the four corners of the globe. Keeping that ship trimmed to an even keel required a mental compartmentalization that kept things in perspective. Napoleon had likened this to opening one drawer of a filing cabinet while closing another, and Napoleon, Dalhousie reflected, was a commander who could go to sleep in the midst of a battlefield if he chose.
Dalhousie checked his watch, and stared out the window, preparing himself for the approaching meeting at the NSC situation room in the White House basement beneath the Oval Office. He estimated another ten minutes, maximum, before he reached the West Wing gate. Meanwhile the SecDef's thoughts turned back to the events of the morning.
The early meeting in Dalhousie's third floor E-ring office had been mandated by the events transmitted over the global SPINTCOM and CRITICOM (special and critical intelligence communications networks, respectively) the previous night. Along these intelligence nerve channels had poured scattered reports of Russian NBC weapons deployment in the Caucasus, but these previous day's reports had been disproved. Not so the reports of last night.
As the hours passed, the network of computers, fiber optic cables and secure radio links that made up SPINTCOM/CRITICOM fed data from battlefield reports, spysat imaging, and electronic intercepts to crisis management centers in the United States, including the Pentagon's NMCC and the Emergency Command Center at the White House. These reports made the picture dismally clear. The Russians had almost certainly used chemical artillery strikes against Uzbeki rebels near the town of Igdir.
Unfortunately, this fact alone wasn't very surprising, only the potential of confirmation. Since the start of the Second Balkan War the previous year after worsening tensions in Macedonia, the Russian army had swept into the Southern Caucasus and breakaway Azerbaijani republics in an attempt to stem the flood-tide of ethnic rebellion that threatened to eat away at the flanks of the former Soviet empire.
The neo-Soviet presence in Bulgaria had set Yugoslavia ablaze with war and tied up NATO and European Self-Defense Initiative forces in that regional theater. It had been deliberately calculated to divert the world's attention from the neo-Soviet Union (NSU) counterinsurgency campaign on Russia's southern flank. As a diversion, Moscow Center's strategy had been fairly successful, though otherwise it had proved a dismal failure.
Instead of destroying separatist guerilla enclaves, the campaign had merely broken them up and dispersed the survivors to found new fighting cells. Ethnic rebellion had spread rather than waned, driving separatist exiles into border enclaves in northern Iraq, southern Turkey and northern Iran, where they formed liaisons with Peshmerga — Kurdish rebel forces — scattered in these areas. Ethnic unrest was now spreading into the Middle East and toward the flanks of NATO, and this latest news from the front showed that the Russians were in desperate straits.
The Soviet debacle had been the subject of the breakfast meeting in the SecDef's office, attended by the chiefs of staff, the CJCS, the DepSecDef, and other deputies and assistants.
Dalhousie had sat at his customary place behind the enormous Pershing desk that had bolstered the dignity — and more often the feet — of his predecessors at the post, and while his secretary served fresh coffee and a polite young Marine officer wheeled in a tray of bagels, danishes and muffins, Dalhousie had begun the discussion about strategies, options and political damage control.
CJCS Starkweather had as usual argued for his pet project, the Snake Handlers. But "Bucky's SMF's," as they had come to be called by the chairman's critics at the Building, had temporarily fallen out of favor. The special missions unit led by Ice Trencrom had caused a crisis in the Pacific the previous month on a mission to stem China's acquisition of silent Kilo-class submarines equipped with cruise missile delivery technology. The subs no longer posed a problem, but the destruction of a multibillion dollar sub pen complex off the coast of Kinmen Island had created political fallout that the president was still ducking.
Trencrom's crew was not an option this time, thought the SecDef. But there were other hole cards that the US might yet pull out of its sleeve. These would be discussed at the White House with the president and members of the NSC. Later that afternoon, after Dalhousie's return to the Building, there would be further discussions with the assembled chiefs in the Tank.
First things first, though. Just ahead, out of the late morning fog, loomed the black iron gate of the West Wing entrance. The Lincoln slowed, the gate was opened for the vehicle flying the DOD chief's flag, and the big limousine rolled inside, onto the White House grounds.
The National Security Council Situation Room is a small, soundproofed meeting chamber buried two stories beneath — but not behind, as some claim, confusing it with the Cabinet Room — the president's Oval Office. The Situation Room is flanked by an operational command center staffed by military personnel and which has available secure Hammer Rick communications links — commonly known as the "hotline" — direct to the Kremlin in Moscow.
The NSC Situation Room, which was constructed following the establishment of the National Security Act of 1947 which, among other things, created the CIA, has played host to numerous meetings prompted by international crises.
It is a cramped chamber dominated by a large square meeting table and lit by overhead light panels. The sit room is not a place conducive to comfort. It is a place of decision, a seat of judgment, and it looks and feels the part.
As the Secretary of Defense was ushered into the West Wing entrance of the White House, the NSC chamber was occupied, as it had been on many a crisis before, during and after the Cold War, though not by the president or his chief advisors.
A group of mid-level cabinet deputies manned the situation room this morning, providing a skeleton staff in the event of a new emergency. President Travis Claymore preferred to meet with advisors in the Oval Office whenever possible; the sit room made him claustrophobic.
Today was no exception, and the SecDef was informed upon arrival at the White House that the meeting was to be held in the Oval Office. A Marine guard soon ushered him into the famous circular room, where he found the small circle of the president's closest advisors already seated in the customary horseshoe arrangement of chairs just in front of the fireplace. The seating arrangement placed all advisors in positions facing the president's desk.
"Lyle, come in," said President Claymore. "We've been expecting you. Sit down. Help yourself to coffee. The turkey sandwiches are pretty good today."
Dalhousie took a BLT off the buffet that had been set up by the entrance and sat in a vacant seat, his customary one beside State near the center. The SecDef bit into the sandwich as the president leaned back in his desk chair and steepled his palms for a moment. Damn, he was hungry.
"Lyle, you know the shit that's been mellowing in the Caucasus. As of this hour we've got a hopper full of confirmed reports the Russians have used chemical weapons on the Uzbeks. I've already taken calls from the Europeans… President Le Blanc, Prime Minster Benchley, and several other heads of state have phoned to express grave concerns.
"I'm concerned about the possibility of the ESDI going off on its own hook and doing something dumb. In fact Prime Minister Kelly LeBrock was on the line just before you arrived. As you know she's been a strong opponent of the ESDI right from the start. She gave me a few ideas and I've enlisted her to take the pulse of the European military and political establishment on this issue."