The Chinese chuckled without mirth. “They must know, then, that Russia is saving most of her missiles for us.”
“That is correct; but they know that Russia has a dozen Tabun-armed ICBMs pointed at America. No telling how many other types of missiles.”
“It is my understanding that America has chosen a side in the upcoming confrontation.”
“All of their missiles—so I have heard—will be directed at Russia and the eastern-bloc nations.”
The Chinese stood up. Just before he walked away, he said, “Good luck to you.”
Miami—eleven hours before launch
“A meeting in the open is dangerous,” the Russian said to the Cuban.
The Cuban shrugged. “So is crossing the street—even in normal times. The Chinese know of your Tabun.”
“So they will have a few days to perspire heavily from fear.”
The Cuban looked out over the waters. So pretty and calm. His thoughts were of his family in Cuba. Those he would never see again. “How much of the world will survive?”
“What difference does it make?” the Russian said, rising to his feet. “We won’t be here to see it.”
“I do not share your tolerant view of death… comrade. I also do not understand why, since the KGB has known of this coup attempt for months, and also of the American double cross—if that’s what it is—all parties involved do not just sit down and put a stop to it. Before the world explodes.”
The Russian laughed. “Because it is time, that’s why. When the missiles fly, Saul, just close your eyes and pray to whatever god you believe in. You will have approximately eighteen minutes to tremble and wet your drawers.”
The Cuban looked up at the Russian, contempt in his eyes. “At least I have a god, Peter.”
“Better not let Castro hear you say that,” he replied with a chuckle. He walked away.
Saul lit a cigar with hands that trembled. He watched the retreating back of the Russian. Everything was set… in motion. He could not stop it.
No one could.
The men in the sub waited. They had no fear of being detected, for they knew, as the Russian in Miami did, that it really made no difference who fired the first missile. It was time for a war. They knew, from monitoring Russian broadcasts, that the Red Bear was aware they were going to fire the Thunder-strikes. Had been for months; certain leaders had known of the coup attempt for almost a year, but had remained quiet. Communism was not working in Russia; more and more of its citizens were discontent, rumbling. They knew there would be an attempted revolt inside the mother country, had known of the plans for months.
General Malelov had said it was time for war.
General Travee knew it was time for war.
Premier Su knew it was time for war.
So let it begin.
Brady sat with the Joint Chiefs, having a last cup of coffee, smoking, talking. Time was running out; down to hours, minutes. They talked of the panic in America, and in the world, and of the inevitability of armed conflict. They spoke of the burning, the looting, the savagery.
“We’re going to have ICBMs coming at us from all directions,” Travee said, glancing at his watch. “Very soon.” He lit a cigarette and the men looked at him in surprise.
Brady said, “I thought you quit smoking years ago?”
“I did,” Travee said, smiling, sucking satisfying smoke deep into his lungs. “But what the hell difference does it make now?” He laughed.
The men chuckled with him, watching him smoke and sigh with obvious satisfaction. “Well, boys,” he said, “what about it?”
“I’m leaving for Gitmo in about an hour,” General Dowling said. “I’m going to take my marines and fulfill a twenty-five-year-old dream. I’m going into Cuba proper, find Castro, and kick the balls off him.” He looked at Admiral Divico. “You, Ed?”
Navy smiled, then sighed. “I’ve said good-by to my wife. She understood why I have to do what I’m doing. She’s military as much as I am. I’m flying out of Edwards in just a few moments. I’ll be on a flagship. You know what, though? God, would I love to have my shoes planted on the deck of the old
General Hyde spat on the ground. “I’m leaving in just a second or two. I’ll be in the left seat of one of our lumbering, antiquated old B-52s, trying to penetrate Russian air space, hoping a goddamned wing doesn’t fall off from old age.” He glanced at Travee. “Well, old warrior, looks like that leaves the country in your hands.”
“Thank you all very, very much,” Travee said dryly. “Since the flying White House was sabotaged, I’ll be in Weather Mountain, directing our attack.” He coughed. “Brady will be with me.” He coughed again. “Goddamned cigarettes are gonna kill me!”
The men laughed, rose to shake hands, then parted, each going his own way to meet the enemy. They did not say another word. There was nothing left to say.
With less than ten hours before launch, the world went into a blind panic. In America, there weren’t enough police and soldiers to control the frightened mobs trying to flee. Wild reports that hundreds of thousands of enemy troops were on the way split the airwaves. Troops were moving, but they were Russian and Chinese troops moving toward each other, not toward the U.S.
Rioting and looting in American cities began slowly, then picked up in intensity and savagery as night darkened the streets. Subways were jammed with frightened people running blindly, clutching a few possessions.
Freeways and expressways clogged, slowed, then became hopelessly snarled as cars and trucks broke down and were abandoned. For the most part, efforts to try to clear the interstates failed because civilians refused to obey military orders.
Civil defense and evacuation plans in America were a joke. Leaderless, the people were left to their own panic-stricken imaginations, and they ran wild.
The military had declared martial law, but the news of that only served to frighten the people more. The American people reasoned that if the military had declared martial law, then we must be under attack—from somebody.
Because of jammed highways, the military had had to airlift troops in, and at night, troops in battle dress all look alike. Who could tell?
Automobiles became useless; death became indiscriminate. The elderly became the first casualties—most had no place to go, and others could not get where they wanted to go. The old could not move swiftly enough, so they were trampled upon and left to be robbed, assaulted, and killed. Children became separated from their parents. They sat on the curbs and howled their fright and were knocked out of the way by panicked adults. Some ran into the streets and were crushed by speeding automobiles. Others were left to wander the streets in total mindless terror and confusion. Older children found rocks and sticks with which they broke windows, then stole candy and food. The girls, those old enough—in most cases—were dragged into alleys and, at the very least, raped.
It is a fact that in times of great crisis, human animals prowl the streets in far greater numbers than normal. Weaponless, most people had no means with which to defend themselves. But criminals never register guns; and never seem to have any problem getting them. Shots were fired, fires were started, the flames and the gunfire and the screaming heightening an already near-impossible situation.
And the worst was yet to come.
A wire service reported that America was under attack from foreign countries. Flash. DJs hit the air with the news. More panic.
And, just as America has agents in every country around the globe, gathering intelligence and waiting to strike in case of open hostilities, most other countries have agents in America, waiting to do the same. They all have their orders: in case of attack, knock out communications and create panic and confusion. And that they did. They could not reach their home countries, and most of their embassies were closed, so they followed the earlier orders. The U.S. had begun jamming frequencies—as many as they could, and that created even more problems and confusion.
