spoke again, however, his tone was strong. “What is the next step?”
“If we follow standard operating procedure the next step would be to order the Skyscraper fighter planes which are standing by at Vindicators Fail-Safe to attack them,” General Bogan said. Colonel Cascio’s head jerked sideways and he stared at General Bogan. “The fighters would first try to raise the bombers visually and divert them. Failing that, they would press home an attack with air-to-air missiles and cannon fire.”
There was a long pause on the line. Then the President spoke.
“Who gives that order, General?” the President asked.
“You do, sir,” General Bogan said.
“General, order the fighters to start their pursuit of Group 6,” the President said without a moment’s hesitation. “I assume that will take a few minutes at least. Tell them to hold fire until they get the direct order from me. I would like to delay the actual firing on the group until the last possible moment.”
Bogan and Cascio heard the click of the President putting down the phone without waiting for an acknowledgment.
Swenson had come into the Big Board room. He was accompanied by two of his aides. They were both tall men and they emphasized his slightness.
Swenson stood at the door for a moment and looked at the people in the room. They had all come to attention, had torn their eyes away from the Big Board. Swenson made his count, nodded, and they all sat down. He walked to the chair at the head of the table, and as he reached it the red phone, which had been moved directly in front of him, rang. As he leaned forward to pick up the phone Swenson looked casually at the Big Board. He seemed little in the chair-little and very confident and orderly. His presence eased the tension in the room.
“Yes, Mr. President,” Swenson said.
It was possible to link the red phone to a loudspeaker so that everyone in the room could hear it. Swenson chose not to do that.
“Mr. Secretary, General Bogan at Omaha has told me that he recommends that we order our fighter planes accompanying Group 6 to shoot them down,” the President said. This was not precisely the truth and the President knew it. However, he wanted Swenson to face the decision most abruptly and nakedly. “The decision is mine, but I would like the advice of you and your people.”
“Mr. President, do you want me to discuss this with them right now or shall we call you back?” Swenson said. He was glad he had not put the conversation on the loudspeaker. In Swenson’s methodical mind was stored the fact that shooting down the bombers was standard operating procedure. By phrasing the problem this way the President was forcing them to make an evaluation rather than follow a set procedure.
“I will hold the line for your opinion,” the President said.
“General Bogan at Omaha has recommended to the President that our fighters be ordered to shoot down Group 6,” Swenson said in a calm voice. “The President is awaiting our advice before giving that order. Gentlemen, what do you have to say?”
Of the men at the table only Swenson and Black knew that this was standard operating procedure. Of the rest of the group Wilcox was the most shocked. His face flushed.
“Jesus Christ, order Americans to shoot down other Americans?” Wilcox asked. “It would… it is indecent. I’m against it.”
Swenson’s eyes were veiled. He looked around the table. Groteschele’s hand went up.
“Mr. Secretary, I oppose it on the grounds that it is premature,” Groteschele said levelly. He wanted to overcome Wilcox’s apparent hysteria. “After all, sir, our planes have not yet reached Soviet air space. In fact, they are hundreds of miles away from it.”
Swenson’s face was still impassive; he might have been the presiding officer at a small Midwestern corporation’s board of management meeting.
“We must do it and at once,” Black said flatly. “First, if we do not give the order now the fighters may not be able to overtake the Vindicators. Secondly, if we delay the order we lose any bargaining position that we might need later with the Russians. They are watching Group 6 and our fighters right now and are trying to guess what we are doing. And keep in mind that there are other steps after this and they involve much more than the crews of six bombers. A lot may hinge on the Russians believing what we tell them. You can be damned sure that the moment those planes penetrate Soviet air space the President is going to be in a tough spot talking with the Russians and will need everything he can get to bargain with them.”
Another point occurred to Black: if only one fighter made it and brought down one bomber perhaps the others would turn back-but he did not really believe
it. He knew that the Vindicators would bore in even if they had to do it singly. They had been too well trained to panic at the sight of a single bomber exploding. They had also been steeled to the possibility that enemy planes, simulated to look like American planes, might make an attack.
Swenson’s eyes opened fully; they were bright and attentive. He glanced quickly around the rest of the men at the table. There appeared to be nothing left to say. Black was the one who had summed it up. Swenson knew that some of the others didn’t agree, but sensed that Black had the logic and the facts. He admired Black’s cool presentation and sensed that the President would be thinking in much the same way.
“Mr. President, it is our belief that it is a tactical decision, but it is our unanimous view that the fighters should be ordered in,” Swenson said, looking directly at Wilcox.
Swenson put the phone back in its cradle. Wilcox’s face was a mottled pink.
Buck had heard all of the conversations. He stared at the President. The President had one leg thrown over the arm of his chair and occasionally he puffed at a long thin cigar. His posture was reassuring to Buck. Everything that Buck had heard on the telephone had tightened his stomach muscles and only the President’s physical ease kept Buck from trembling.
“Get Omaha again,” the President said into the phone.
Almost instantly they were through.
“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” General Bogan’s voice said.
“General, order the fighters in,” the President said.
“Let me enfirm that,” a strange voice said on the circuit. “This is Colonel Cascio, General Bogan’s assistant. Do you want the fighters to press home the attack even if they have to go to afterburners? That will nearly triple their consumption of fuel and almost certainly mean that none of them will be able to make it back.” The voice paused, then spoke with more firmness, almost a tough arrogance. “Mr. President, those fighters are America’s first line of defense against a Russian attack. In putting them on afterburners to chase our own bombers we will be sacrificing our fighters’ defensive capability at the very time we may need it most-the Russians may attack at any moment now.”
The President paused. Buck watched him scribble some words on his pad. They said, “Sacrifice fighters convince Russians an accident? Give up defensive capacity of fighters… will they believe?”
“General Bogan, I repeat the order,” the President said, coldly.
“Mr. President, the fighters swung away from the Vindicators when they got the all dear,” General Bogan said. “In effect, the Vindicators and the Skyscrappers have been flying in opposite directions for some. minutes. The Skyscrappers have only a slight edge of speed over the Vindicators. There is some doubt that they can overtake the Vindicators.”
“I repeat, General Bogan, that the fighters are to overtake and shoot down the Vindicators even if it means going to afterburners,” the President said.
“Colonel Cascio, order the fighters to attack Group 6,” General Bogan said as he put the phone down.
Colonel Cascio came halfway out of the chair in a spasm of protest.
means that you have decided our bombers are making an accidental strike on Moscow?” Colonel Cascio asked. His voice was shocked, but there was also a hard underlay of rebellion.
“I have and the whole damn system has,” General Bogan said savagely. “The machines, the men, the
