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Brown glanced at the starboard wing. Burning fuel was sending lashing flames back from the trailing edge of the wing. It didn’t matter. They could spare the fuel, and the flames weren’t heating anything but air. They were a sitting duck for flak now, with the bright flames a clear give-away of their position. But there wasn’t any flak. Brown allowed himself a faint smile of triumph. They’d made it. In just over three minutes Kotlass would cease to exist. So would the bomber, but that didn’t matter.

He said quietly, "All right, she’s made it. We’ve got about three minutes left."

Engelbach cleared his throat. He found to his surprise he was not in the least afraid. He said, "Clint, there won’t be much time later. Maybe you’d like to say…"

The numbness was in Brown’s lower arms now. The hand on the controls was insensitive, dead feeling. But he knew it would last out until they were past the target. He said quietly, "Sure, Harry. José, maybe you’d like to stay on your own?"

Garcia remembered back to the tin building in the slums of the Californian town where he had grown up. He remembered the comfort that came when he needed it. He hadn’t needed it for years now, or maybe he had and just didn’t know it. Now he did. But with Clint Brown, and Harry Engelbach, and Bill Owens. They’d come a long way together in the last two hours. They’d stick together now. He said, "It doesn’t seem to matter now, Clint. There’s some things right, some wrong, hell I don’t know the difference. Say it for me too."

Some things right, some things wrong. Yes, Brown thought that was it. It was wrong to kill. It was not wrong to defend what you knew was right and good. To attack without cause, to kill without provocation, was wrong. To hit back like they were doing had to be right. He felt a great peace coming on him. What they were doing was surely right, and they could answer for it without shame.

The bomber raced on across the few remaining miles, the long, fierce jet of flame from the starboard wing proclaiming her presence for all to see. Brown began to say a few, very simple words.

Chapter 22

The Pentagon
12.00 G.M.T.
Moscow: 3 p.m.
Washington: 7 a.m.

"That does it," General Franklin said. He had marked the last of the acknowledgements on the list. Only three bombers now remained unaccounted for. They were the two definitely reported as destroyed, and the third hit over the Barents Sea. Obviously that one had been destroyed too. Probably it had crashed into the sea somewhere, and no trace of it would ever be found.

The President was in the middle of a conversation with the Marshal. Franklin wrote a message on a sheet of paper to the effect that twenty-nine bombers had acknowledged, and three had been destroyed. The whole wing was accounted for. He placed the paper in front of the President who nodded and scanned it quickly. Franklin went out of the room to ensure fuelling rendezvous areas had been fixed for the homecoming wing. He had decided to bring them on back to the States. Another wing could rotate overseas in their place.

"Naturally, we will pay compensation for any damage we have caused," the President said. "We will pay for physical damage to Russian property, and we will pay any reasonable compensation for the dependents of those who have lost their lives. Finally, we will take steps to see this can never happen again."

The reply was definite. "It must not happen again. The offer of compensation is accepted."

"If it is within our power to control it, then it will not happen again," the President said firmly. "But I must remind the Marshal we have shown good faith throughout this unfortunate occurrence. Tragedy has only just been averted. We must now make sure it does not occur again, not just by exercising a tighter control on our weapons and commanders, but by removing the root cause from which these incidents may arise. Between us we must reduce international tension. There is no other way. And I repeat, we on our side have already shown good faith."

The reply came almost immediately. "Words are cheap. To pay compensation is easy."

"We are ready to prove our intentions with deeds," the President said quietly. "In fact, I consider we have already done so in the last two hours."

Again the reply was almost immediate. "I wish to ask the President a question. Suppose one of our cities had been destroyed. Would his good faith, his readiness to prove peacable intentions by deeds, have then been so firm he would have allowed one of my bombers free access to a city of his, in fair reprisal for the one an American bomber had destroyed?"

The President pondered. He looked quickly at Zorubin, but the Russian would not meet his glance. "If I considered the peace of the world depended on making that sacrifice, yes I would have allowed it."

"Again I would remind the President that words are cheap."

"My words are never cheap," the President said angrily.

There was silence for all of thirty seconds. Then the Marshal’s voice came from the speakers again. The President saw Zorubin blanch as he listened to the harsh but quietly spoken sounds.

Speaking woodenly, and looking straight in front of him, Zorubin said, "The President has stated his words are never cheap. He will now have a chance to show that. Contrary to his assurances, his bombers have not all turned back. One of them is still flying south over Russian territory. We assume its target is the peaceful city of Kotlass. If it hits that city, then I shall ask the President to show that his words are truthful. I shall demand an American city in reprisal."

The President was very pale. "Does he mean it?" he asked Zorubin.

The Russian ambassador said slowly, "Mr. President, I fear so. You must appreciate the Russian system of government. So long as the people see that the Marshal is all-powerful, then he is in no danger. But if a Russian city should be destroyed, and he was not able to say: "There you are. They destroyed one of our cities, and because I am a man of peace I destroyed one of theirs rather than destroying their whole country. Just to teach them a lesson," then he would be in danger of being deposed. You must remember, we are a semi-Asiatic country. Face does not matter to us so much as it does to the Chinese. But it still matters more than it does to you. I am sure he means it."

"The bomber’s target isn’t the city of Kotlass," General Steele interposed. "It’s the I.C.B.M. base outside."

"How far outside?"

"Six miles, Mr. President."

"And the city will be destroyed?"

"If the bomb is within a couple of miles of the aiming point, yes it will be destroyed."

The President drummed his fingers on the table. He saw General Franklin come back into the room and he saw that Franklin had something important to say. "Yes Franklin?"

"Mr. President, the Distant Early Warning stations are reporting Russian bombers. Not many of them, about a dozen. They’re holding their position four hundred miles off."

The President frowned. "Zorubin," he said, "If I refuse, what would happen?"

Zorubin shrugged. "It depends. Your bombers are on their way home. He may be tempted to launch an attack, to destroy one or two of your cities regardless of your permission. It would probably be a minor attack, no more than a dozen or so bombers. No doubt those General Franklin has mentioned would be employed."

The President made his decision. "I’ll give him a city," he said. "But it shall be a city of my choosing. Further than that I will not go. Franklin, with the state of the prevailing wind, and roughly equating the size of a city to Kotlass, what’s the answer?"

Franklin said, "The wind’s due west, and likely to stay that way for some time. Mr. President, I’d say Atlantic City. There aren’t any visitors this time of year. There are good highways in and out. The population could be evacuated quickly, and any fall-out would be taken away out to sea. If we have to give them a city, then that’s the best, but I…"