"The possibilities are incredible," the colonel continued. "We can direct their system to make fatal errors. Not only can we completely disorient the enemy's control system, we can direct his weapons to attack each other. We can direct communications nodes to commit electronic suicide. We can offset every grid and coordinate in his automated mapping system. And we can actually conjure up false worlds for enemy commanders. They'll be sitting at their monitors, imagining that they're watching the battle, when in fact everything portrayed will be an illusion. And we'll be the master magicians. At the very least, we'll destroy their faith in their electronics. We'll be altering not just the parameters of the system, but the perception of its operators." Taylor looked into the President's eyes from half a world away. "But the most beautiful part is actually the simplest. Every Japanese military system has a self-destruct mechanism built into it. It's ostensibly to prevent the gear from falling into enemy hands — but it also functions as a safeguard, in case, say, the Iranians turned against them—"
"Never happen," Bouquette muttered audibly.
"— then the Japanese could simply send out electronic signals to every system in Iranian hands, ordering the machines to self-destruct. The component the Russians captured has shown us how it's done. And it's easy. We may even be able to neutralize these new weapons."
"The Scramblers," Waters said.
"Yes, sir. The Scramblers." Taylor twisted up the side of his mouth, a half-leer in a dead face. "Unfortunately, it can only be done through a Japanese master control computer. That's the background. Here's the plan. I intend to take my command ship and a single troop of five M-l00s — manned by volunteers — on a raid against the Japanese theater headquarters at Baku. We will employ all of our deception systems going in, and, as we close, we'll jam everything in the area of operations. The Tenth Cav will be able to help us out with that. Our approach to the target will also be covered by a larger scale deception operation, as the rest of my regiment pulls out to the north. My raiding party will disappear in the noise of events. And we'll move fast. We won't be going in blind, either. The Soviets are sending me an officer who knows the layout of the Baku headquarters complex."
Taylor paused, and the President sensed that the man was searching through a tired brain for any key factors he might have omitted.
"We're banking on Japanese reluctance to destroy their computer system, no matter what happens," Taylor continued. "Since they don't know we've broken their code, they'll assume we couldn't access the system even if we had a year to take it apart and play with the components. Again, this system is considered to be absolutely impregnable, a sort of futuristic fortress. We'll count on going in very fast, loading in our programs, and getting out of there." Taylor stared hard at the President. "I want to do it tomorrow."
Waters nodded noncommittally.
"It's a long shot," Taylor admitted. "We'll have no time for rehearsals. We'll have to refuel once on the way in, and the Soviets will have to help us out on that. We won't be able to afford significant casualties — it's going to be a bare-bones operation. And we'll be counting on Japanese overconfidence so that they won't destroy the control computer and stop us in our tracks. Then, coming back out, we'll be vulnerable as hell — it appears that the Japanese can detect the M-100's signature from the rear hemisphere. Mr. President, I frankly cannot give you odds on the outcome. I'd just be guessing. We may fail. But… as an American soldier… I would be ashamed not to try." The layer of hard confidence dissolved from Taylor's features, and he simply looked like a vulnerable and very tired man. "Mr. President, we beat them today. We destroyed their finest forward-deployed systems. Their central Asian front is in a state of collapse." Taylor was obviously fumbling for the words to explain his view of the world. "The only thing that's holding them together now is the success of this new weapon."
"The Scramblers," Waters said, retasting the word. "Yes, sir. Otherwise, we've got them licked. You see, sir, in war… the loser is often simply the first guy to quit. Time and again, commanders have assumed that they've been defeated when, in fact, they were in far better condition than their enemies. We know how badly we've been hurt. But it's always harder to gain an accurate perception of the true state of the enemy." Taylor's eyes burned and begged across the miles. "Mr. President, just give us a chance. Let's not quit. Try to remember what it was like for our country after the African intervention, when everything seemed like it was coming apart. It's been a long, hard road back. But we're almost there. Let's not quit while there's still a chance."
Waters sucked his teeth. "Colonel Taylor," he said, "do you really believe you have a chance to pull this off?"
"Yes, sir. A chance."
"Nobody else seems to think so. The experts here don t think you could even get halfway."
"Sir, I know what my men and my machines can do. I saw it today."
"The Soviets want to quit," Waters added, "and, while I certainly do not want to belittle our losses, the Soviets have lost a substantial urban population and a regional population they haven't even begun to count. I even understand that the city — Orsk, was it? — was crowded with refugees from the fighting to the south. I'm not certain I could convince them of the wisdom of this move, even if I liked the idea myself."
"Mr. President," Taylor said, "I can't respond to that. All I can tell you is that I do not think the time has come to surrender."
"Now" — the secretary of state jumped in—"we're not talking about a surrender. The options under discussion are disengagement, an open withdrawal from the zone of conflict under mutual or multilateral guarantees, or, perhaps, a transitional ceasefire in place, to be followed by international regulation of the problem."
"Whatever words you use," Taylor said coldly, "it's still a surrender."
"George," the chairman of the JCS interrupted, "you re overstepping your bounds. Considerably."
Taylor said nothing.
Waters wanted to know what this battered-looking warrior really had to offer. Was there any genuine substance behind the disguise of the uniform?
"Colonel Taylor," Waters said, "I've even had a report from one of your subordinates, a Lieutenant Colonel Reno, that suggests you may not be competent for the position you presently hold. He makes it sound as though you had a pretty bad day."
Taylor's face remained impassive. "Mr. President, if you have any doubts about my performance, you can court-martial me after this is all over. Right now, just let me fight."
Waters measured the man. For a moment, Taylor was more immediate, more absolutely present in the room, than were any of the flesh-and-blood advisers. Time suspended its rules, and Waters slipped into old visions, accompanied by the aftertaste of a cheeseburger.
"Colonel Taylor," the President said slowly, "have you ever been bitten by a police dog?"
"No, sir."
"Neither was I. But my father was. Marching down a road in Alabama, with empty hands and a head full of dreams. They sent in the dogs… and my father was bitten very badly. It was a long time ago. I was not born in time to see those things. But my father had a powerful command of our language. When he described the fear he felt facing those dogs, well, his listeners felt it too. The dogs chewed him until he ran with blood. Yet, the very next day, he was out there again, marching and singing. He was even more afraid than he had been before, but, as he never tired of telling me, it might have been a very different world if he and just a few other frightened young men and women had given up." Waters tapped a pencil against an empty china cup. "My father… did not live to see his son become President of the United States. He died of Runciman's disease while I was off giving congressional campaign speeches to dwindling audiences. But I know that he would expect me to face those dogs today." Waters laid down the pencil and considered the image of Taylor on the screen. "The only problem is that I'm not quite sure what that means in this context. Does 'facing the dogs' mean sending one Colonel Taylor and his men back into battle with their sabers drawn — or is that merely avoidance, sending other men to face the dogs for me. Perhaps… facing the dogs means taking responsibility for my own bad decisions and cutting our losses."