“I’ll tell you straight,” Blaylocke answered with a serious look. “I always have, sir.”
“I know, Susan,” the president replied. “Sorry. I’m tired, and confused.”
Blaylocke turned toward the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “Admiral Chambers, before I go on record about this preemptive operation, I want to understand the details, the plan of action, if you will.”
Every eye turned to the highest ranking officer in the military services.
“We — the Joint Chiefs — have reviewed this scenario from a tactical standpoint and conclude, unanimously, that a preemptive nuclear strike against the Soviet Union is feasible. We will prevail, no question about it,” Chambers said in a controlled voice. “I am not in a position to address the political or economic ramifications.”
The president spoke to Chambers. “What about Milt Ridenour? Is he in concurrence with this … action?”
“Yes, sir. Unequivocally,” Chambers replied, feeling the president was beginning to respond to the inevitable. “You can confirm that, sir. He is immediately available in the ‘Looking Glass.’ ”
“I will, Admiral, if this continues in the developmental stage.” The president, jaw set, looked into Chambers’s eyes. The face of the chairman reflected a grim determination.
“Continue your brief, Admiral,” the president said, rubbing his temples.
“We can inform our theater commanders, via secure net, to prepare for an imminent nuclear strike. This will allow us to place our missiles closest to the Soviet Union on the primary targets in the least amount of time.”
“What about the Warsaw Pact nations?” Blaylocke asked, jotting notes on her legal pad.
“We will confine their involvement, as much as possible, to conventional weapons. The major strikes — nuclear strikes — will be confined to the military installations, manufacturing plants, cosmodromes, and other strategic locations.”
“Cosmodromes?” Blaylocke asked, a quizzical look on her face.
“Yes, ma’am,” Chambers replied politely. “We have to take away any residual capability to launch space vehicles of any kind, including their two space shuttles, Buran and Ptichka. We will eliminate the Baikonur Cosmodrome at Tyuratan, along with various other launch sites, including the cosmodrome at Plesetsk.”
“What about the Soviet submarines?” the president asked.
“We will be able to eliminate perhaps forty to fifty percent of their submarines before they can respond, sir. Our hunter-killer submarines and ASW aircraft are dogging them now.”
“I’m afraid, Admiral,” the president interrupted, “that I don’t share your confidence in our ability to track Soviet submarines.”
“Excuse me, sir?” Chambers responded in a surprised voice. The president had never been so caustic in a meeting with the Joint Chiefs.
“If you will recall, Admiral, the incident in late 1986,” the president leaned forward across the table, “when one of our attack submarines — the USS Augusta—while cruising underwater off Gibraltar, collided with a goddamn Russian submarine.”
The president sat back in his chair and waited a couple of seconds. “They never even heard it!”
Chambers cleared his throat. Only a privileged few knew about the embarrassing incident. “We can’t destroy all the Russian submarines, sir, but we anticipate our antimissile systems will be able to eliminate most warheads that do get airborne.”
“That still leaves warheads that are going to impact the continental United States.” The president paused, reflectively. “Not to mention Alaska and Hawaii.”
“Yes, sir,” Chambers said, feeling a dampness under his uniform blouse. “That is true, no question about it.”
“And the Soviet bombers?” the president asked, staring intently at the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “The ones we don’t get in our strike?”
“We’ll be able to down the majority, but …” Chambers slowed, looking tired, “we’ll receive some impact damage. Primarily from cruise missiles.”
“Any projections as to the Soviet priorities, Admiral?” Blaylocke asked, noticing Grant Wilkinson had not said a word during this question-and-answer session.
“Only speculation,” Chambers answered in a cordial manner, ever the gentleman. “Military primarily, then secondary targets. We simply can’t project that information with any degree of accuracy.”
“What amount of damage can we expect to sustain?” Blaylocke paused, writing continuously on her legal pad. “Realistically?”
“We’ll receive considerable damage. Probably greater than our projections, to tell you the truth,” Chambers answered, holding up his hand to indicate he wasn’t finished. “However, I can tell you it will be a fraction of the damage we will receive if the Soviets strike first.”
Chambers stopped for a moment, then added a serious warning. “You must consider the difference. Think about it. We have been given a warning. An opportunity to control our destiny.”
The room remained quiet while everyone digested what Chambers had said.
“The Joint Chiefs,” Chambers continued, “are convinced, as are the chief of staff and the secretary of defense, that a Soviet preemptive strike is imminent and inevitable, Mister President.”
The president looked at his vice president. “Okay, give me your decision, Susan.”
“Sir, I have been trained for years to gather all the information, analyze the material, then make a clinical, unbiased, objective decision.” The vice president looked around the room. Every eye met hers.
Blaylocke continued, confident, clear of voice. “As I see it we are faced with doing nothing with every warning light flashing, and accepting the consequences, whatever they may be.”
Blaylocke looked at her yellow pad. “Or we can follow the course presented by Admiral Chambers and—”
“On the word of a Soviet emigrant? A neophyte in the CIA?” the president asked, a surprised look in his weary, bloodshot eyes.
“Please, let me have the floor,” Blaylocke asked in an even, pleasant voice.
“I’m sorry, Susan. Please continue,” the president replied, clearly distraught over the possibility of nuclear warfare.
“Or,” Blaylocke continued, “we can follow the suggestion of the military experts, with the support of Grant and Cliff, and preempt the Soviets.”
Blaylocke removed her glasses before speaking again. “We control the situation, not the Soviets.”
Susan Blaylocke looked at Chambers, then Wilkinson, before concluding her remarks. “That is about it, my considered judgement, Mister President,” Blaylocke said. “I’m satisfied that we don’t have a choice. The bell has sounded, and we’re waiting to see who throws the first punch.”
Chambers replied, “A very astute analogy, ma’am. This is, in fact, a first-punch fight. There won’t be another chance for the runner-up.”
The room remained hushed while the president of the United States of America digested the proposed action. It was unprecedented.
Grant Wilkinson broke the silence. “Sir, TASS, Izvestia, Moskovskii Komsomolyets, along with various other Soviet media, are reporting the death of the American spies. We know that Zhilinkhov believes that blatant lie, or heads would have rolled by this time.”
“Please make your point, Grant,” the president said, impatience beginning to show on his strained face.
“Zhilinkhov is insane, desperate, sir,” Wilkinson continued. “Now he believes his plan is still safe because the Kremlin operative is dead. We don’t know when he will strike. We only know he intends to blast us into oblivion.”
Wilkinson exhaled sharply, looked at the ceiling, then back to the president. “We either strike first, Mister President,” Wilkinson waited a long four seconds, “or we become a nation that was.”