his eyes fastened to the Big Board. “Until we identify it positively it will remain a red blip and we will regard it as hostile.”
The two visitors stared, mesmerized, at the red blip. It moved slowly across the projection. General Bogan knew precisely what was going through their minds. There was a possibility that they were viewing a real enemy, a plane or a missile, which was flying toward the United States with a hostile intention.
“What are you going to do about it?” Knapp asked. Since he had entered the War Room his voice had never been raised above a whisper. Now the whisper was almost hoarse.
“That information, Mr. Knapp, is not classified,” General Bogan said with a smile. “The Soviets can make a good guess about what we are doing. We always have a certain number of SAC bombers in the air. They have been informed of the Condition Blue and will start to fly toward their Fail-Safe points,” General Bogan said.
“Fail-Safe?” Raskob asked,
“The Fail-Safe point is different for each group,” General Bogan explained. “They also change from day to day. This is a fixed point in the sky where the planes will orbit until they get a positive order to go in. Without it they must return to the United States. This is called Positive Control. Fail-Safe simply means that if something fails it is still safe. In short, we cannot go to war except by a direct order. No bomber can go in on its own discretion. We give that order.”
“They must get the order to ‘go’ by radio,” Raskob said. “Is that right?”
“That’s right, Mr. Raskob,” General Bogan said. “Actually they do not receive the order verbally but it is transmitted to a small box which we call the FailSafe box, which is aboard each plane. That box is operated by a code which changes from day to day and can be operated only at the express order of the President of the United States. You have probably read that he is accompanied everywhere by a warrant officer from the Air Force who has the current code that would operate the box.”
“Why don’t you just give them a direct verbal yes or no and save yourself all this trouble?” Raskob asked.
General Bogan could tell Raskob was becoming restless. His eyes were fastened on the red blip and its inexorable progress.
“Actually we do both. But an enemy could easily come up on the same radio frequency and give whatever message it wanted just by imitating the voice of the President or one of our commanding officers,” General Bogan said. With a smile, he added, “Remember that our President has a rather distinctive regional accent which can be easily imitated. Also, when people talk over the radio there is often a misunderstanding of what is said, especially if there is any radio interference. But there can be no interference with the FailSafe box. It can be activated in only one manner and at the express order of the President.”
The Congressman turned from the board and spoke sharply to the General. “And what if someone up there —or down here—cracks?”
“You will probably remember, Congressman Raskob, that last July, the Air Force testified before your committee on our program to give a psychological screening to any airman who had anything to do with nudear weapons,” General Bogan added, trying to keep the irony from his voice. “From generals down to privates.”
“Yes, sir, there are a number of people who believe that the Air Force has a high incidence of madmen among its air crews,” Colonel Cascio said with a smile. “A few years back there was a lot of upset about whether or not an individual madman, ranging from a general down to the pilot of a plane, could start a war. With this procedure we may still have the madmen around but there is nothing they can do to start a war.”
Raskob’s eyes were back on the Big Board. Now he licked his lips. When he spoke his voice had something more than the rasp of irritation in it.
“Well, what else are you doing?” he asked brusquely. “Jesus Christ, that could be an ICBM or a Russian bomber and as far as I can tell you aren’t doing very much about it.”
General Bogan could not resist. “We are doing a good deal right now. Fighter planes are flying toward the unidentified object, ICBMs are going through the initial stage of preparation for launching, whole squadrons of bombers are being fueled and armed in case it really is an enemy vehicle that is coming toward us,” be said, “But, Congressman Raskob, if we went full out every time an unidentified object appeared on the screen we would need four times the appropriations that we now get from Congress. All-out safety is a very expensive thing.”
Raskob missed the irony. “What do you mean ‘every time that this happens’?” Raskob asked. “How often does this happen?”
“About six times a month,” General Bogan said. “And if we went straight to Condition Red each time it would probably cost around a billion dollars.”
Instantly Raskob’s face relaxed, his whole posture became easy. He laughed.
“O.K., General, you win,” Raskob said. “I got that bit about the congressional appropriations. But you should have told me that, it happened six times a month. It can’t be very dangerous if it happens that often.”
“Sir, we never take a chance,” Colonel Cascio said. His voice had an odd sharp inflection to it, almost reproving. “Right now we don’t know what that object is. We treat it exactly as if it were an enemy vehicle of some sort. If we cannot identify it in a few more minutes or it acts suspiciously we will go to Condition Yellow. If we still are unsatisfied or things occur that complicate the picture we might even go to Condition Green. The last condition, as you know, is Condition Red. We have never gone to Condition Red, for that would mean that we actually considered ourselves at war and would launch weapons, all of our weapons, at the enemy. What all of this machinery assures is that if we do go to war it is not by accident or because of the act of some madman. This system is infallible.”
Colonel Cascio was wrong.
Branching off from the War Room is a warren of powerfully built and beautifully orchestrated rooms. Each room has a function. Each is protected by sheaths of reinforced concrete and a layer of lead. Each is air- conditioned. Each is linked to the War Room by alternate methods of communication. The whole thing is as symmetrical, efficient, and orderly as the mind and muscle of man can make it.
One room in the warren about the War Room is labeled Presidential Command Net. The door is guarded by an Air Force man twenty-four hours a day. Within the room-of classified length and classified breadth-there are six low, gray, squat machines. Above them is a sign which reads Fail-Safe Activating Mechanisms. Below that sentence and in heavy raised red letters are the words To be used only at express Presidential order. There are two desks in the room. One of them is in front of the bank of six machines. The other is behind the bank of machines.
Seated behind each of the desks is an enlisted man whose sole duty is to check the mechanical condition of the activation machine. The machines are deliberately not covered. All of the operating parts must be visible to the two inspectors. The air which is forced into the room is triple-filtered so that it is dustless.
At about the moment that Colonel Cascio said the word “infallible” a sergeant sitting at one of the desks stood up and walked around the bank of machines.
“Frank, how you fixed for cigarettes?” the sergeant asked. “I’m out.”
Frank tossed him a pack of Chesterfields. The sergeant reached to catch them. At that moment in Machine No. 6 a small condenser blew. It was a soundless event. There was a puff of smoke no larger than a walnut that was gone instantly.
The sergeant sniffed the air. He turned to Frank. “Frank, do you smell something?” he asked. “Like something burning?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” Frank said. “You bumming cigarettes all the time and then not paying me back, that burns me.”
They grinned at one another. The sergeant returned to his desk. Things returned to normal… almost. A small shield hid from the sergeant’s view the tiny knob of burnt carbon on top of the disabled condenser. No instruments on the table indicated a malfunction.
Congressman Raskob was a tough man. He regained his composure quickly. Now he was even enjoying the situation. It had something of the elements of politicsmit.
“Can you project the fighter planes that are flying toward the unidentified object onto the Big Board?” Raskob asked.
“Certainly, sir,” Colonel Cascio said.
He moved some levers. A few feet from the red blip a phosphorescent worm began to glow, became more distinct, and then broke itself into six separate blips, all black. They were diminishing the distance between themselves and the red blip at a rate which was perceptible to the human eye.
