“Why the hell would they do that?” the President asked.
“I don’t know,” General Bogan said, paused, and then went on. He spoke slowly, his voice unconvincing. “There is a remote possibility that their Fail-Safe black boxes might be giving them a ‘go’ signal and that Russian jamming is preventing our verbal Positive Control system from operating.”
“Is that possible?” the President said sharply.
General Bogan paused. Then his voice gained confidence. “No, Mr. President, the odds against both systems falling at the same time are so high I think that is impossible,” General Bogan said. He was aware that Colonel Cascio was watching him. He felt an undefined and nagging discomfort. “Almost impossible.”
“All right,” the President said. “Now if we do regain radio contact will they respond to a direct order from me to return?”
“They will answer, sir,” General Bogan said, “providing we can reach them by radio within the next five minutes.” Then he paused. “However, if after that time their black boxes still tell them to ‘go’ they are under orders not to turn back even if someone who sounds like you orders them back. You can see the reason for that. The enemy could easily abort a real attack just by having someone around who could make a good imitation of your voice. Those people in the Vindica. tors have to obey the Fail-Safe mechanism. They can’t rely on voice transmissions.”
Something like a sigh came over the speaker.
“All right, let me sum up,” the President said. “For reasons which are unknown to us Group 6 has flown past its Fail-Safe point and right now seems to be on an attack course toward Russia. We can’t raise them by radio, but there’s an outside chance that we may later. What is their target?”
“Moscow,” General Bogan said bluntly.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” the President said in a low and very slow voice. He said it again, as if to shake off a terrible reality. There was for a fleeting moment something of the acolyte, the altar boy, in his voice. When he spoke again, however, his tone was strong. “What is the next step?”
“If we follow standard operating procedure the next step would be to order the Skyscraper fighter planes which are standing by at Vindicators Fail-Safe to attack them,” General Bogan said. Colonel Cascio’s head jerked sideways and he stared at General Bogan. “The fighters would first try to raise the bombers visually and divert them. Failing that, they would press home an attack with air-to-air missiles and cannon fire.”
There was a long pause on the line. Then the President spoke.
“Who gives that order, General?” the President asked.
“You do, sir,” General Bogan said.
“General, order the fighters to start their pursuit of Group 6,” the President said without a moment’s hesitation. “I assume that will take a few minutes at least. Tell them to hold fire until they get the direct order from me. I would like to delay the actual firing on the group until the last possible moment.”
Bogan and Cascio heard the click of the President putting down the phone without waiting for an acknowledgment.
Swenson had come into the Big Board room. He was accompanied by two of his aides. They were both tall men and they emphasized his slightness.
Swenson stood at the door for a moment and looked at the people in the room. They had all come to attention, had torn their eyes away from the Big Board. Swenson made his count, nodded, and they all sat down. He walked to the chair at the head of the table, and as he reached it the red phone, which had been moved directly in front of him, rang. As he leaned forward to pick up the phone Swenson looked casually at the Big Board. He seemed little in the chair-little and very confident and orderly. His presence eased the tension in the room.
“Yes, Mr. President,” Swenson said.
It was possible to link the red phone to a loudspeaker so that everyone in the room could hear it. Swenson chose not to do that.
“Mr. Secretary, General Bogan at Omaha has told me that he recommends that we order our fighter planes accompanying Group 6 to shoot them down,” the President said. This was not precisely the truth and the President knew it. However, he wanted Swenson to face the decision most abruptly and nakedly. “The decision is mine, but I would like the advice of you and your people.”
“Mr. President, do you want me to discuss this with them right now or shall we call you back?” Swenson said. He was glad he had not put the conversation on the loudspeaker. In Swenson’s methodical mind was stored the fact that shooting down the bombers was standard operating procedure. By phrasing the problem this way the President was forcing them to make an evaluation rather than follow a set procedure.
“I will hold the line for your opinion,” the President said.
“General Bogan at Omaha has recommended to the President that our fighters be ordered to shoot down Group 6,” Swenson said in a calm voice. “The President is awaiting our advice before giving that order. Gentlemen, what do you have to say?”
Of the men at the table only Swenson and Black knew that this was standard operating procedure. Of the rest of the group Wilcox was the most shocked. His face flushed.
“Jesus Christ, order Americans to shoot down other Americans?” Wilcox asked. “It would… it is indecent. I’m against it.”
Swenson’s eyes were veiled. He looked around the table. Groteschele’s hand went up.
“Mr. Secretary, I oppose it on the grounds that it is premature,” Groteschele said levelly. He wanted to overcome Wilcox’s apparent hysteria. “After all, sir, our planes have not yet reached Soviet air space. In fact, they are hundreds of miles away from it.”
Swenson’s face was still impassive; he might have been the presiding officer at a small Midwestern corporation’s board of management meeting.
“We must do it and at once,” Black said flatly. “First, if we do not give the order now the fighters may not be able to overtake the Vindicators. Secondly, if we delay the order we lose any bargaining position that we might need later with the Russians. They are watching Group 6 and our fighters right now and are trying to guess what we are doing. And keep in mind that there are other steps after this and they involve much more than the crews of six bombers. A lot may hinge on the Russians believing what we tell them. You can be damned sure that the moment those planes penetrate Soviet air space the President is going to be in a tough spot talking with the Russians and will need everything he can get to bargain with them.”
Another point occurred to Black: if only one fighter made it and brought down one bomber perhaps the others would turn back-but he did not really believe
it. He knew that the Vindicators would bore in even if they had to do it singly. They had been too well trained to panic at the sight of a single bomber exploding. They had also been steeled to the possibility that enemy planes, simulated to look like American planes, might make an attack.
Swenson’s eyes opened fully; they were bright and attentive. He glanced quickly around the rest of the men at the table. There appeared to be nothing left to say. Black was the one who had summed it up. Swenson knew that some of the others didn’t agree, but sensed that Black had the logic and the facts. He admired Black’s cool presentation and sensed that the President would be thinking in much the same way.
“Mr. President, it is our belief that it is a tactical decision, but it is our unanimous view that the fighters should be ordered in,” Swenson said, looking directly at Wilcox.
Swenson put the phone back in its cradle. Wilcox’s face was a mottled pink.