The bombers of the 519th Wing went as far as Thule. There they landed and remained for several weeks. In the redistribution of SAC’s strength, bombers were kept aloft, prepared to strike, day and night.
There were casualties. As many people were killed in the evacuation as would ordinarily die on the highways, and by crimes of violence, on a long summer holiday, such as when July 4 falls on a Monday.
It was necessary to postpone the celebration of Christmas, in most homes, until New Year’s. Millions of families, out of food and gas, were stranded in distant towns and villages Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Millions slept in barns, in their cars, in warehouses, railroad stations, and jails. Others were more fortunate, and for a few days lived in luxury and pleasant surroundings such as they had never enjoyed before. Country clubs and resort hotels suddenly discovered they were catering to the masses, free.
Hundreds of thousands from Baltimore, Pittsburgh, Washington, and Richmond had fled to the Cumberlands and Shenandoahs. Of these a lucky hundred or so discovered the Walback lodge near Front Royal. Their host at first had been hostile, actually threatening them with a rifle. But when he saw how many they were, and how determined, he admitted them. At the lodge they had everything they needed for their comfort and pleasure, just as if Walback had been preparing his place for such an emergency. Some of his guests were so impressed with his hospitality that when they left they took with them souvenirs, such as silver spoons and forks, heirlooms fashioned by Kirk of Baltimore, that were more than a hundred years old.
After their last guest departed, the Walbacks returned to Washington. It was early January by then, and the country was pretty well back to normal. Henrietta Walback never tired of telling of her experiences and hardships, when she had been forced to entertain the rabble.
Business quickly restored itself, since people had to work to live. Congress met and approved the President’s action, although a minority faction would always contend that he had been weak and soft.
The two captured saboteurs were tried and executed. Stanislaus Lazinoff, alias Stanley Smith, requested that he be allowed to die before a firing squad, as befitted an officer of the Red Army. His request was denied. He was tried for murder, not espionage or treason. He was electrocuted at the state prison in Raiford, Florida, with five witnesses. There were no flowers. Pravda and Izvestia applauded the executions, branding the saboteurs tools of the previous criminal regime.
Gregg Palmer, the missing man of the four, was never found. Hunting for Palmer was almost as difficult as hunting for a Smith. Felix Fromburg, detailed to the search for six months, was sure that Palmer had never joined the Air Force. It was Fromburg’s opinion that Palmer was the shrewdest of the four. Finding himself in the United States with $40,000 in cash, he had considered the odds carefully and decided to take his chances with the West. He had discarded his synthetic identity and adopted another, and now was lost among 160,000,000 citizens as completely as a single drop of water in a broad lake. Perhaps he had married, bought a farm or business, and joined the Kiwanis Club. It was anybody’s guess. Fromburg felt he would never be found, for his training in Little Chicago had fitted him superbly to mix with the population.
Betty Jo Atkins was questioned, and testified at Smith’s trial. She was fearful that he would curse or rage at her publicly, and was puzzled and then angered by his complete indifference. During the trial he seemed bored, and when she testified glanced at her only once, and in contempt. Actually, Betty Jo benefited considerably from her relationship with Smith. She was paid a thousand dollars to sign her name to her memoirs for a confession magazine, and another five hundred to appear on a television show, and she regained possession of the green-and-white Chevrolet.
PFC Henry Hazen was promoted to corporal.
Clark Simmons was picked as one of the members of an inspection team to visit Russia. Agreement on methods for complete inspection of all armaments production, nuclear weapons, and military strength, seemed really promising, after the years of futile palavering. The Geneva Spirit revived, and everyone hoped that this thaw was permanent.
Colonel Cragey again resigned from the Army and resumed his teaching at Charlottesville.
Steve Batt repaired the hole in his game room, at considerable cost, and was advanced forty numbers towards his captaincy.
Jesse Price remained at Hibiscus on Conklin’s staff. Conklin recommended his promotion to full colonel, skipping the intermediate grade, and he was sure the SAC commanding general, and Keatton, would approve. In an Air Force where crewless rockets were replacing planes, a pilot’s eyesight would be of little importance, since pilots were obsolescent.
The Intentions of the Enemy Group remained dissolved, to General Clumb’s satisfaction. But General Clumb himself was uprooted from the Pentagon and exiled to a desert post in Arizona to superintend the storage and care of obsolete tanks and armored cars.
Katharine Hume wrote the AEC that she was remaining at Hibiscus, on annual leave. Nobody seemed to have missed her.
One night, in the new year, Jesse took Katharine to dinner in the city. The place was noisy, the Florida lobster tougher and stringier than usual. It was not the atmosphere he wanted. Rather abruptly, he suggested they return to the base.
On the drive back to Hibiscus she nestled close to him, saying little, as if she expected him to say much. But traffic was heavy, and with only one eye it was necessary for him to concentrate on driving.
Once on the base he drove to the O Club. It was crowded, for the 519th Wing was newly returned from Greenland, and happily thawing out. Jesse and Katharine had one drink, avoided a dozen gay groups, and he led her back to the car. They drove to a quiet lane near the golf course. Three other cars were parked there before them. He turned back, and drove past the hangars and across concrete to the fence protecting the flight line. The 99’s stood there, moonlight on their wings, the wings drooping like great birds roosted for the night.
“Pretty, aren’t they?” he said.
She dropped her head against his arm. “Yes they are, now.”
He kissed her. “This will have to do for our romantic place,” he said. “It’s the only romantic place left around here. Ready to get married?”
“I’ve been ready.” She was thoughtful for a moment. “Some people think the President was too soft. Men may think that, but not women. I know he was right. If we’d erased Russia, I don’t know that I’d be so anxious to get married. Years ago a fellow wrote a story about all the men being sterilized by a big nuclear explosion. If there had been a war, I don’t think anything so quick and simple would have happened. It would have been much worse. A big bang, and then a long, long whimper.”
“Time of troubles,” Jesse said. “Very dangerous time. Know what I’m worried about? What happens if they get parity in the ICBM? What happens if they won’t disarm?”
She said, “I’m not going to worry now. I’m glad I live in this time. Time of troubles, yes. But also a time of decision. What we do, counts. Just think, Jess, all the generations to come are going to look back at us and say, ‘That was some generation!’ We’re only beginning to learn about nuclear energy. Wait until we harness the meson, and learn all there is to know about cosmic rays. Do you know what we’re doing, Jess? We’re groping our way out of a dark age. And I want to be part of it. I want to reach for the sun.”