circuit.
Not laughing at you, my friend, laughing with you. At least you’re at
sea you could be stuck flying a desk, like I am.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know that. So, how long will it take to get an
answer?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Batman could hear the resignation in his friend’s voice.
“Hell of an answer. Tombstone.”
“Sometimes it’s like that. Batman. As soon as I hear from the
eight-hundred-pound gorillas, I’ll let you know.”
Batman knew Tombstone was referring to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “But
when? I’ve got preparations I need to make out here, you know.”
“Of course I know that,” Tombstone said sharply. “Look, as soon as I
hear anything, I’ll let you know. It shouldn’t be long, though. I
understand the President’s in conference on the matter right now.”
Batman sighed as he hung up the telephone. The President might be
consulting his top political and military experts, but it didn’t take a
rocket scientist to figure this one out. Weapons poised on Cuba could
have only one target the continental United States. And, when a
decision was finally made, it would be up to Batman to walk that thin
line between defense and aggression, between preserving the integrity
of the United States and provoking war.
1220 Local (+5 GMT) The White House The President stared down at the
photos strewn around his desk. In his past twenty-five years as a
political animal, he’d seen satellite imagery often enough never
before, however, in such telling detail.
He leaned back in the custom-built chair, feeling the sinking sensation
of resignation. Around him, his staffers and aides fell silent. The
President steepled his hands under his chin and thought. Finally, he
glanced back at the man standing in front of him. “So it comes down to
this? Again?”
The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so,
Mr. President.”
The President sighed. “Kennedy thought he had the problem licked
forever,” he said reflectively. He gestured at the photographs. “We
should’ve known better. They won’t stop not really. Even with the
fall of the Soviet Union, there will always be power-mongers and
terrorists in the world. Whole nations, even.”
The chairman shifted uneasily. “We have some options.”
The President spun his chair around to stare out at the Rose Garden.
“Oh, I’m certain we do. We always do.
There’s not a spot on the world that we haven’t projected out as a
terrorist or rogue state and tried to figure out what we should do
about it But in the end, what it comes down to is American men and
women setting foot on foreign soil, doesn’t it?”
The roses were in full bloom, each bush carefully and lovingly tended
by the White House gardener. Some of the plants were decades old, he
guessed. There was no garden on earth that got finer care than this
collection of roses. “We should take care of other things just as
well,” he said out loud. He heard the uneasy scuffle of feet behind
him. And now the President is talking to himself. Wonder if that
makes them feel any worse as if it could. He spun his chair back
around to face the group.
“One of the reasons I was elected,” he said slowly, organizing his
thoughts as he went, “was my commitment to a strong defense policy.”
He grimaced, shrugged slightly.
“You all know I’ve seen all ends of this, from the ground up as a young
Army officer in Vietnam to the crises I saw as vice president. I know
what I’m about to do, more than any President since maybe Eisenhower.
The other military men that have held this post came from some of the
more refined fields of warfare submariner, fighter pilot, that sort of
thing.” He gestured dismissively. “But it takes an old Army dogface
to understand what fighting’s really about. It takes men hell, and
women, too, no won the ground, face-to-face.” He finally came to a
decision and looked up at the assembled group. “Cuba is a sovereign
nation, but this is our part of the world. I won’t have a land strike
capability in Cuba-I won’t. And I’m not going to sit in this office