The President took a few seconds to collect his thoughts before he responded to the Air Force General. His head leaned on his fists and his forehead was furrowed.
“I will indeed use the description of the incident as you recommend, as well as the self-destruct at our initiative. After all, it makes sense.
However, I don’t want in any way to contradict their version and suggest that they are liars. As I’ve already said, I’m going to play along with their game. I can’t wait to see their faces over there in the Kremlin when they hear my speech. I think it will cause them some confusion and everything will be open to question. From that moment, they’ll start suspecting us and what we have in store for them. Add to this the order to launch nuclear missiles without deliberation on anyone daring to cross the 12th Longitudinal, and the confusion in the Kremlin will be complete.”
President Butler leaned back in his chair a little smugly, folding his arms behind his head.
“Well, gentlemen, what do you think? Secretary Perry?”
“Mister President, even if we did have an implementable military option, I have a feeling that your plan would lead to a much better outcome.”
“Mister President”, this time it was the CIA director. “I think that this is an excellent idea that could confuse them and cast doubts on their course of action so far. They won’t understand why we’ve adopted their false version regarding the cruise missile, and therefore will also have a hard time understanding what our follow-up plans are.”
President Butler smiled slightly, for the first time in many days. He turned to his spy chief.
“So, when I retire, can you get me a job with your agency?”
The director smiled.
“Of course, Mister President, I will be delighted, even though I’m sure that you will be offered more senior positions with better compensation.”
“Well, we’ve got a war to run. I’m going to the press room. Keep your fingers crossed for me, and for the American people.”
The President rose to his feet and strode out of the room.
Chapter 15
The Red Army’s General Staff Headquarters was housed in a huge, imposing building on the Moskva River in Moscow’s Khamovniki district. The white building was dubbed by many, though not in public, “the Russian Pentagon”. The Minister of Defense, Marshal Budarenko, was sitting several floors below ground level, in the war room complex. This was a world in itself, now buzzing with activity. Dozens of officers and soldiers moved around the spacious halls in a frenzy. A large, low table in the center of the room held a map of the European continent. Small wooden models, especially of tanks, most of them blue and the others red, were scattered around the map. Soldiers surrounded the table holding what looked like pool table cue sticks, moving the small models around the map. Most of the tank models were concentrated in the area on the table representing Poland and the two Germanys, blue against red.
The Minister of Defense sat in his office on the second floor with a glass wall which afforded him a commanding view of the large, spacious control table. His military adjutant sat next to him, passing to him, from time to time, dispatches received from the front by a teleprinter in the next room. Most of the dispatches were reports concerning problems or requests from various units in the field, especially regarding supplies of fuel and ammunition. Only two hours before, the Minister of Defense had ordered all the Soviet ground forces stationed in Poland to move west into the territory of the German Democratic Republic. The first tank units had already crossed the border, and so far, no resistance by the German civilian population or the East German army had been recorded. The maneuver was going ahead without incident. It is still too early to draw conclusions, the Minister thought to himself, but so far the reports have been encouraging. If it goes on like this, we can cross the border between the Germanys in just over 24 hours.
The Minister focused his gaze on the large control table on the floor below. A dense concentration of little wooden tanks lined the central route leading to Berlin. North of it, an even larger force was concentrated in the area of the city of Szczecin in Poland, and an arrow pointed towards the large port city of Hamburg. From the concentration point of the third, southernmost force, an arrow pointed towards three cities in West Germany: Leipzig, Dessau and Halle.
The Minister was feeling elated by the show of force. He turned to his adjutant.
“It’s amazing how everything is falling into place without incident. This is not something that’s ever been done before — I’m moving the largest armored force here that the world has ever known. You may be too young to know, but six thousand tanks took part in the great battle of Kursk in 1943, and the battle of Kursk was considered — until today — the biggest concentration of armor in history. That was true up until two hours ago. I am now moving almost thirty thousand tanks into battle. Do you understand what is happening here? It’s five times more than all the forces fighting in Kursk!”
“Mister Minister, your name will be etched in golden letters in the books of military history, and all military academies will teach your maneuver. This is further proof of what you have always said: that it all begins and ends with planning. When planning is done with great care to the smallest details, then in the field, everything happens without incident.”
The adjutant glanced at Marshal Budarenko, trying to assess the
Minister’s satisfaction with the flattery he had just been served, but the Minister’s face remained without expression. A bundle of telegrams was brought into the room and the adjutant started sorting them.
“Mister Minister, updates are beginning to arrive from our forces about their advance into the German Democratic Republic. At the moment, the northern force is the farthest west. By the way, we’ve also just received a translation of the Address to the Nation by the President of the United States.”
“What? When did he speak? What does he have to say after trying to destroy the city of Murmansk? Did this criminal beg for forgiveness?”
A disparaging smile spread from ear to ear on the Minister’s face. He looked through the window to the large table below him.
“It’s too bad I can’t show him that table down there, but his soldiers will soon see this in action, or — how do they say it in English? — they will see this LIVE!”
“Mister Minister”, the adjutant spoke again. “He actually apologized.” “What? What are you talking about? Who apologized?”
“The American President Butler. He even offered monetary compensation to the families of the seamen who died on our battleship.”
The Minister of Defense savagely snatched the paper from his adjutant’s hand. He read the contents over and over, unable to believe his eyes.
How can that be? He thought to himself. Now he wasn’t elated, but rather concerned. His head was spinning with thoughts and pictures. Maybe they’re deterred by the vast forces that we have concentrated against them, he thought, and in order to appease us, they’re willing to go along with our story and even to assume responsibility for the missile that blew up; anything to prevent our advance. Yes, that’s probably the logical explanation for what the President said, the Minister reasoned to himself with satisfaction. I seem to have managed to bring these arrogant Americans down to their knees, very low to their knees.
A young officer entered the room and put a sealed envelope into the hands of the Minister’s adjutant.
“This is addressed to you personally, Mister Minister”, the adjutant said, handing the envelope to the Minister.