Swenson looked around the room. For a moment he debated whether or not to turn the Big Board off, but decided to leave it on as a reminder of the urgency of the situation. The problem was to get the fullest possible answers to the questions in the least amount of time.
“Gentlemen, Omaha is plugged in with us and General Bogan and Colonel Cascio are listening in at that end,” Swenson said. “Mr. Knapp, the president of Universal Electronics, and Congressman Raskob are also at Omaha on a visit. I have given them permission to listen to our discussion and to comment if they have something to say.”
Swenson’s voice had been almost excessively calm. Now when he spoke again, there was in his voice the sharp metallic ring of urgency.
“In a very short time the President will be back to us and he will want answers to some questions,” Swenson said. “First, what happened? Secondly, what to do if the fighters cannot overtake the Vindicators? Thirdly, what are the Russians going to think of all this? Fourth, what will they do about it? The discussion will be only on these points.”
Swenson glanced around the table. His eyes stopped when they came to Black. Black’s unblinking eyes, deep-sunken, almost invisible, looked steadily at him.
“General Black, will you very quickly bring us up to date on what has happened,” Swenson said.
“Mr. Secretary, the first thing to face is the fact that we are flying blind,” Black said. “No one knows exactly what has happened. All we know for sure is that SAC Group No. 6 flew through its Fail-Safe point and, unless stopped, will attempt to make an attack on Moscow. Basically only two things could have happened: a compound mechanical failure or someone in Group 6 has gone berserk.”
“Statistically a double mechanical failure is almost impossible,” Groteschele growled.
“But it is conceivable, is it not?” Swenson asked the question so sharply that Black wondered if somehow he had been briefed on the earlier discussion.
Groteschele hesitated. “Of course it is possible, but…,” Groteschele said, but stopped when Swenson swung his head away.
Bogan’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. Somewhere a technician adjusted the volume and it seemed almost as if Bogan were in the room.
“I agree with General Black, but Colonel Cascio has a doubt,” General Bogan said. “Very briefly his argument is that the Russians have devised a way to mask the real position of Group 6, which is probably flying back toward the States. What we read as Group 6 on the radar is actually a group of Soviet bombers up there for precisely one reason—to lead us to believe that we have accidentally launched a bomber group at Russia. I disagree with this analysis. But it should be considered.”
Around the table there were multiple signs of restlessness. Groteschele scratched on a pad of paper. Others reached for cigarettes. Stark looked down the table at Black. Black remained impassive, but he tensed for Swenson’s reply. A lot would depend on Swenson’s reaction to Cascio.
“Thank you, General Bogan,” Swenson said, without taking his eyes from Black’s face. “I agree with your evaluation of Colonel Cascio’s argument. Now, General Black, will you continue?”
“Every surveillance device we have has been thrown on the Russians,” Black said. “They have seven bomber groups in the air at this moment. None of these can reach America without refueling. None of them is flying an attack course. All are following hold patterns inside Soviet control borders. An abnormally large number of Russian fighters are in the air, in fact approximately half of their fighters are airborne. However, a simultaneous computer analysis of their flight patterns does not reveal a definite aggressive pattern. The Russians have launched no rockets as yet. Our devices which pick up sudden discharges of energy are probably our most reliable surveillance instruments. I am confident that the Soviets have not used their ICBMs as yet.”
“What do you make of it?” Swenson invited anyone’s comment but his tone said “keep it short.”
“They have the same problem with our Group 6 as we had earlier with the UFO,” Allen of the National Security Council said. It was the first time he had spoken. “They don’t know what it is, why it is there, or even if it is ours.”
“The best answer happens also to be the simplest,” Black said calmly. “The Russians probably picked up the same unidentified object we did. They understood why our planes started to fly toward their Fail-Safe points. This thing has happened scores of times and they have gotten familiar with the pattern. So far no sweat. But when one of our groups did not turn back they knew it as soon as we did. That accounts for their launching an abnormal number of fighter planes. My guess is that right now they do not consider our Group 6 to be hostile or aggressive although the behavior of our fighter planes will probably begin to worry them in a few minutes. If they see the fighters actually try to shoot down the Vindicators, they will know there has been some big and dangerous mistake.”
“Or they will think we are sending them in as a ruse,” Groteschele said sharply.
“That is correct,” Black said. “Whichever of these interpretations they make will be alarming to them. Even so, I would not expect them to take any kind of retaliatory or offensive action that could not be recalled unless Group 6 actually invades their air space or we start to take what appears to be broader hostile action in support of Group 6.”
Allen of the NSC walked back to his chair at the table. He had been speaking on a phone at the far end of the room.
“Mr. Secretary, I have been talking to the National Security Agency people,” Allen said. “As you know they keep a 24-hour a day surveillance on Soviet communications, making tape recordings of everything that is said.” (Black looked at Stark. They had both heard that when the U-2 went down with Powers the NSA people had listened to the Soviet antiaircraft crews talking on the radio and knew that Powers had lost power and dropped to 36,000 feet.) Allen went on, “They tell me that there is no significant increase in Soviet military communications and they estimate that right now the Soviet military apparatus is not on a full alert or in aggressive position.”
“Professor Groteschele, would you care to comment on what the Russians might be thinking?” Swenson said.
General Bogan’s voice cut in flatly and without apology from Omaha.
“Who is this Groteschele, Mr. Secretary?” General Bogan asked. “Why is he sitting in?”
Swenson’s reply was polite but edged with ice. “Professor Groteschele is a recognized authority on many of the matters before us and was invited here at the express wish of the President.”
Groteschele smiled. Quite unconsciously, he stood up, the posture of the professor addressing students. He chuckled and then abruptly broke it off. He had seen Swenson’s face, stony hard, eyes a flat commanding blue. The look Swenson gave Groteschele was as explicit as a command.
Then Groteschele, to Black’s astonishment, spoke crisply, without ambiguous words and without evasiveness. The Russian leaders are Marxist ideologues, he said, not normal people. They believe history is determined by nonhuman events which will assure the victory of Communism. Nuclear war would interrupt the process of this historical determinism. Russians have more to lose by war than we. Therefore, an American first attack would bring Russian surrender rather than nuclear retaliation.
Black felt a reluctant admiration for Groteschele. He disagreed with most of what Groteschele said, but when the chips were down and the crisis came, the man had stated his position without reservations.
“Just why would they surrender if we hit them?” Swenson asked.
“They are human calculating machines, Marxist fanatics, not motivated by rage or hate,” Groteschele said evenly. “If they are hit first, even by one or two bombs, they know that if they retaliate they can destroy us or a substantial part of our people and resources. But they also know that we would have a second strike capacity which would devastate them. The important thing, for the Marxist, is to keep at least part of the Soviet Union intact. They would not be particularly worried about the survival of a capitalist country. In fact, many of them believe that capitalism must play itself out to its inevitable historical defeat before Communism can really succeed. To put it crudely: they want to be around for a while, and if the price they have to pay is that some free countries are also around they will pay it. They will not allow the world to be destroyed. They aim to dominate it eventually and they want it reasonably intact. So they would surrender.”
Swenson looked back at the Big Board. The fighter blips were very close to Group 6. He swung around abruptly.
“In short you believe they are utterly in the grip of an ideology,” Swenson said. “Their logic and their fanaticism will make them act in a perfectly determined manner. Is that correct?”
Groteschele hesitated. He could not tell how Swenson evaluated this argument. He took a deep breath.
“Yes, sir, that is what I think,” Groteschele said slowly.
Again Black felt a flash of admiration. Groteschele was putting a whole career, a reputation, a school of thought, nakedly on the line. There was a good chance that before the day was out it would face judgment.
Swenson looked around the table, his silence inviting comments.
Groteschele could not afford the silence.
“What I am arguing, Mr. Secretary, is that although my interpretation seems unusual and novel it is simplicity itself,” Groteschele said. “We should do nothing. If I am correct the Russians will surrender, and if our leaders are sufficiently resourceful the threat of Communism is over forever.”
“Do nothing,” Swenson said quietly.
Groteschele was tough. Swenson was an amateur historian and a student of modern leadership. He had learned that all of the powerful leaders had known when to wait. The capacity to do nothing at the right time was part of great statesmanship. Swenson did not for a moment accept Groteschele’s analysis or his evidence. But his conclusion might be right.
“Mr. Secretary, I think all of that is a lot of crap.” General Bogan’s voice cut in harshly from Omaha. “Look, I am under the gun more than any of you. I have to take all of this stuff from the computers and translate it into action. Don’t kid yourself. There are going to be three or four Russian generals at crucial spots who will react exactly the way I do: the best defense is a good offense. They will attack without giving a damn about what Marx or anyone else said.”
“Any other comments?” Swenson asked.
Groteschele had seated himself, but he was bent forward in his chair, tense with excitement. By his own act of will, he was almost at the point of committing the total energies of one hundred and ninety million people in an enormous military decision.
Swenson glanced at Black.
“Everything in Groteschele’s argument depends upon the extent to which Russian leaders are dominated by Marxist ideology,” Black said. “He believes that domination is complete. I think he is wrong. The CIA did a long study on this and it came to the conclusion that Soviet leaders made their decisions as Russians and later justified them as Marxists. Forget they are Communists and judge their acts objectively and they behave much like leaders in any other country.”
On the Big Board the fighter blips were seemingly only inches away from the Vindicators. Everyone listened to Black, but they were watching the Big Board. The lead blip suddenly ejected two tiny phosphorescent dots that sped out ahead of it. Then the blip began a long lazy downward curving arc. Black knew that the plane had flamed out because of a lack of fuel, had fired its missiles, and was now falling toward the icy waters. He sensed the pilot’s first sensation of terror, the awful feeling of a dead plane under one’s hands. The suspense of waiting for the capsule to eject, the slow swinging parachute’s descent into the icy arctic waters, and the last few numbing moments before death.
Swenson’s voice cut in with authority.
“The lead fighter has gone in,” he said. “We can assume that none of the others will be successful. Now where do we stand?”
Groteschele made an oblique approach to pin down his position.
“Mr. Secretary, let me remind you about the Doomsday tapes. Both the Soviet Union and we have the ability to launch a first strike, to have most of the missile sites survive an enemy strike, and to launch a second strike,” Groteschele said. “Assume that every person in America were killed by Russia’s second strike. The Russians know that the Doomsday tapes would then go into operation. This means that weeks or even months after all of us were dead the silos scattered in hard and locked-up sites around the United States would go into action and destroy what is left of the Soviet Union. What is more important is that the Russians know we have those tapes. And that we would use them. Group 6, however its accident happened, has provided a God-given opportunity. One of our groups is well launched toward Russia with a reasonable chance of success. I am convinced that the moment the Russians realize that, they will surrender. They know they cannot escape our second strike or ultimately our Doomsday tapes. Group 6 has given us a fantastic historic advantage. By accident they have forced us into making the first move, the move we would never have made deliberately. By making that first move, by cracking the gigantic tension, we will get a premature surrender from our enemy. We should advise the President that no efforts be made to recall them. At the same time we should tell the Soviet leaders that they have been launched by accident.”
The second and third fighters launched their futile missiles and went into the long spiral which ended in icy death.
Swenson waited a moment, as if allowing the subtleties of Groteschele’s argument to sink in.
“We must still tell the President how this happened,” Swenson said. “We have heard Colonel Cascio’s theory that it might be a Russian subterfuge or trick. Any other ideas?”
“I do not think that Colonel Cascio is correct, but one part of his argument is helpful,” Black said. “If the Russians did think that Group 6 was part of a planned attack, they would at once try to jam its radio signals so that we could not give it guidance or instructions.”
“But why would they not leave the channels open so that we could recall the group if it was a mistake?” Swenson asked.
“Because they are as suspicious as we are,” Black said. “Our standard operating procedure is to try at once to isolate any Russian bomber group which launches what looks like an offensive against us or our allies. Here we are both victims of our suspicions. Though we both know that there is a possibility of bombers ‘getting loose’ by accident, we assume the other side would do it deliberately. Hence we try to frustrate their efforts to contact their bombers or to control the flight of their ICBMs.”
There was a murmur of voices from Omaha. Swenson cocked his head to one side. Then General Bogan’s voice came out loud and clear. “Knapp probably knows as much about the electronic gear as anyone else,” General Bogan said. “He is a little reluctant to talk but I have asked him to. Is that agreeable, Mr. Secretary?”
“Yes,” Swenson uttered the single word. It underlined the sense of urgency.
The new voice came on, weak and reedy at first, then gaining in confidence. “The more complex an electronics system gets, the more accident-prone it is,” Knapp said. “Take our missiles. Each of them is, in the design stage, checked, double-checked and thoroughly pretested. All of their characteristics have been put through simulated conditions long before the missile is even built. All along the line everything checks out perfectly. Each of the missiles should fire and fly beautifully. But it never happens that way in practice. The Atlas is the most reliable missile we possess. But what happens: we make our first moon shot and it misses by 25,000 miles. Take the old X-15. It was a very small piece of equipment. It was perfect on computers, flew like a dream. It was a beautiful little computerized space needle launched from a mother plane. But there were very few X-15 flights in which something entirely unforeseen did not go wrong.”
“How does this apply to our situation, Mr. Knapp?” Swenson asked abruptly.
“In this very direct way, Mr. Secretary,” Mr. Knapp said, his voice rising. “Pile all those electronic systems on top of one another and sooner or later there will be a deteriorated transistor or a faulty rectifier, and the thing breaks down. Sometimes even those marvelous computers suffer from fatigue. They start to get erratic just like overworked humans.”
“Mr. Secretary, what Mr. Knapp is saying is wrong because it overlooks one factor,” Groteschele cut in angrily. “Even if the machines fail they are supervised by humans. The human could always reverse or correct the decision of the machine.”
Knapp laughed and it was a thin, abrupt, and pitiless laugh. “I wish, sir, you were right,” Knapp said. “The fact of the matter is that the machines move so fast, are capable of such subtle mistakes, are so intricate, that in a real war situation a man might not have the time to know whether a machine was in error or was telling him the truth.”
Black felt a sharp sense of relief. If Knapp had not said this he would have had to. Coming from the “outside” it carried more weight.
“Mr. Secretary, I don’t know if you want a politician’s guess,” Congressman Raskob’s voice said from Omaha, “but you’re going to get it. No politician, and I don’t give a damn whether he is a dictator or a democrat, could survive if he allowed one of his largest cities to be destroyed without taking some kind of action against the enemy. People can be awfully damned vengeful. I don’t know how Khrushchev thinks, but one thing is sure: if he lets Moscow get blown up without taking action against us, he won’t live to write about it in his memoirs.”
The red phone rang. Swenson picked it up smoothly, with no more emotion than if it were a social call at home. No one in the room knew precisely what he would say. But what he said would be the official opinion of an institution made up of millions of men and billions of dollars of equipment and a staggering amount of information. Black looked at Groteschele. Groteschele had, now that the decision was close, relaxed in his chair.
“Mr. President, it is our opinion that Group 6 did actually fly through their Fail-Safe point,” Swenson said. “This was probably due to a compound mechanical error. There is an outside chance that the Soviets might have triggered or contributed to the mistake by some experiment or jamming procedure of their own. We doubt that there has been a human error or that the Commander of Group 6 has gone berserk.”
He stared at the pad in front of him. He began to make some notes. There was an almost visible rise in tension in the room. They had given an opinion. There was, as yet, no decision.
Swenson looked up and spoke to the table at large, the phone held loosely in his hand, his voice calm.
“The President wants to know what the chances are of those six planes getting through to Moscow,” he asked. He looked at Black.
“One or two of the six will probably get through,” Black answered promptly. “Maybe more.”
“Two,” Swenson said into the phone. He listened, looked up again.
“Even with the entire Soviet defensive apparatus concentrating on them?” Swenson repeated the President’s question.
“Our Vindicators fly so fast that they won’t be able to use all of their defensive apparatus,” Black said. “They just can’t get it in front of the Vindicators in time. They will have to shoot down the Vindicators with what is already there plus maybe a few additional fighters. It’s an intricate calculation, but we have made it scores of times and it is based on a consideration of what the Soviets have in the way of defense and what our Vindicators have in the way of evasive capacity.”
“They will be unable to concentrate effectively against the Vindicators because of their speed,” Swenson said into the phone.
Swenson put the phone down.
“The President is assuming that two of the planes will get through,” he said slowly. “We have moved into a genuine crisis. He is going to talk to Khrushchev on the phone.”