The premier picked up the phone on his desk, dialed, and spoke into the receiver. “Alert the helicopter pilot that I shall be needing his services shortly, and make all other arrangements. I wish the emergency meeting of the Politburo advisors, my science advisors, and other members of my senior staff to begin in five minutes.”
He hung up the phone and blew more smoke into the patch of light on his blotter.
Chapter Eighteen
“Major, excuse…”
Major Nikita Mikhailevitch Porembski turned and stared at the young female lieutenant. “Yes, what is it?” he asked.
“My good friend, Comrade Major. He is with the troops at the Pakistan front. I was wondering…?” The blonde-haired girl left her question unfinished. The man squinted as he looked down into her blue eyes. “I can tell you nothing. I know nothing. There is an alert order. The rumor is that we may launch against the American mainland and selected American allied targets. I do not know anything beyond that. The rumor is only that, Lieutenant. It is your lover for whom you worry?”
The girl looked away, her eyes cast down. The major touched her shoulder lightly. “There is a special meeting underway in the Kremlin, I have heard. Perhaps some decision will come of that. Perhaps not. Are you on duty?”
“No, Comrade Major. I went off duty an hour ago, then came here.”
“To Army Headquarters?” The major’s voice was filled with incredulity. Then, “You must love the young man a great deal. He is an officer?”
“Yes, Comrade Major,” she said, her voice low. “We attended school together.”
“Come-I have not eaten. The canteen has food. I too am off duty now. We can talk, Lieutenant. Will you come?”
The young woman looked up into the major’s gray eyes. “Yes, Comrade Major.”
The two officers started walking back down the hallway, in the direction from which the senior officer had just come. “You remind me of my niece,” the major began.
Suddenly, there was shouting from the end of the hall. A young lieutenant was running toward them, his hair flying in his wild eyes. “There is war! There is war”‘
As the young man passed them, the major put his arm around the young woman beside him. He watched her eyes stare blankly down the corridor after the rapidly disappearing young man.
“War,” he said quietly, and the girl looked at him.
***
Aboard his helicopter, flying through the night, the Soviet premier shone a small pen light onto the sheet of yellow paper he held in his left hand. He preferred the flashlight to the overhead dome light. On the yellow paper, not bothering to abide with the lines there, he had written several items, all of which he had discussed with his Politburo advisors, his science team, the military staff-all in a very brief time before he had boarded the helicopter.
Item one had been the particle beam weapon. He did not trust it; neither did the military. Only the fanatic young scientist was convinced-and had pleaded-that it would mean an end to nuclear war. The premier had decided he could not trust the weapon to bring down the American ICBMs, especially those with multiple reentry vehicles-multiple warheads. He would gamble on launching Soviet missiles if the Indians or Pakistanis struck with nuclear weapons first.
Item two had been the Chinese. This had forced the nuclear option, and had amended item one. He had felt compelled to attack the United States first, for the Chinese would surely attack if the Indians or Pakistanis used a nuclear device, and intelligence indicated that the Pakistanis were ready to do so within the hour to stop the Soviet advance. The sad thing, the premier thought, was that he had already ordered the advance stopped. His troops had secured the territory they had originally intended to take, and there was no need for further advance.
Item three. He turned off the pocket flashlight. He could see the words even in the total darkness. The first missile would launch in approximately fifteen minutes, just as he reached his shelter.
“How many dead?” he muttered-in English so the pilot would not understand. “The following special broadcast is a tape of a message pre-recorded in the Oval Office just minutes ago. The president of the United States.”
Sarah Rourke walked past the television set and sat down. Michael and Ann were asking questions. “Hey, Mom, why is he on? It’s supposed to be-”
“Shh-let me hear this,” she said, holding up her hand to silence the boy. “I want to sit on your lap,” Ann, said.
“Fine,” Sarah whispered, as if by talking aloud she would lose her grasp of the moment.
“Good evening, my fellow Americans,” the familiar voice began. Silently, Sarah Rourke looked at the president’s face and thought how old he had gotten in the years since he had assumed the office. She had met him once and remembered him as looking twenty years younger.
“If you are now hearing this message, it is because something of vital concern to the American people has just taken place. We are all aware of the heightening world tensions in these past few days and weeks-these past few hours. It would appear now that the possibility exists of Soviet military action to some degree or another against the United States. If you are now hearing this message, it simply means that we have elected to take the precautionary action of placing you, the American people, on alert to this possibility. It does not mean that war has been declared, or that attack is imminent. It does mean that it would be prudent to tune to your local Civil Defense-”
Sarah Rourke stood up, slipping Ann from her lap.
“Mommy!”
“Quiet-please,” she said, going to the stereo and punching the AM button and turning the dial to 640. The president’s voice was coming through on the radio as well. “-their directions. The American people have endured many hardships over the past in the defense of liberty, and their response has been one in which future generations of Americans have always taken great pride. Let whatever events transpire be so recorded as well. And let us pray that these few simple precautions will be required for only a brief period. By keeping tuned to either 640 or 1240, by following the simple advice broadcast by Civil Defense, we shall all endure the events which are taking shape in as peaceful and secure a manner as conditions allow. I am ordering, for the protection of all Americans, that martial law be in effect in areas of high population density; that all sales of liquor, firearms, ammunition, explosives, and other controlled substances-with the exception of medication-be curtailed. To heighten the effectiveness of Civil Defense measures-”
Sarah Rourke put her hands over her ears. She wanted to scream. Tears welled in her eyes. She looked at Michael and Ann-Michael looked so much like John. Ann was crying, Michael looked afraid.
“Come here, children,” she said. She looked at the digital clock on top of the TV set, hearing the president’s voice again, telling her not to be afraid. She stared at the clock. “Maybe Daddy’s plane has landed already,” she whispered.
Michael, his voice low for a boy his age, said, “Don’t cry, Mommy,” then put his arms around her neck. She leaned her head against her son’s chest and cried anyway.
Chapter Nineteen
“This is the captain speaking, ladies and gentlemen. I-ah-I don’t quite know how to say this, but according to Atlanta tower, for reasons of national security, our flight and other flights stacked currently at the field are being diverted inland. I’ll ask that you check your seat belts once again. We’ll be moving out of our holding pattern here and taking a new flight plan. Our projected landing is in Phoenix, Arizona. I want to apologize, on behalf of the airline, for any inconvenience this may cause you, but also assure you that transportation back into the Atlanta area as soon as such can be arranged will be taken care of, as will accommodations for you in the Phoenix area. The reason behind this rerouting, as best as we can determine, is a currently unsubstantiated report that the Soviet Union and the United States, fifteen minutes ago, officially broke off diplomatic relations.”
“What the hell is going on?” Rourke said, his voice low. His right hand stretched across the florid-faced businessman beside him and held onto the arm of a stewardess.
“Sir, I really can’t add anymore to what the captain has said.” Her well practiced airline hostess smile had vanished. He looked at her, released her arm, and turned back toward the window.
The captain’s voice came on the speaker again. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Stewart again. I’m picking up something cutting across our frequency with Atlanta tower. It indicates that Civil Defense is alerting the Atlanta area that approximately fifteen minutes ago satellites indicated a massive Soviet Intercontinental Ballistic Missile launch against the U.S. mainland and western Europe.”