Red Hammer 1994

“That’s good enough, Colonel,” Hargesty said. “Let’s go see the president.” Getting US forces out of Europe and back home to help with reconstruction was high on the president’s agenda. Nervous allies suspected more sinister motives. In other words, doing something stupid that would drag them into the conflict. No one completely trusted the wounded United States, a country with too many nuclear bombs and lacking the necessary resources for recovery. The dollar was literally worthless. How would the United States pay for anything? IOUs? Erstwhile, allies expected some nuclear arm-twisting.

The two generals traversed to the forward part of the aircraft, past the rows of operator consoles aligned neatly two by two. The battle staff worked around the clock. By now, they had fallen into a perfunctory routine of damage assessment and tracking US military units around the globe. The picture was confused and fragmented.

NEACP was literally a flying radio. The plane’s exterior from nose to tail sprouted the full range of wire, blade, and flush-mounted satellite antennas to handle the entire communications band from VLF to EHF. The airship could transmit and receive simultaneously over multiple channels to nuclear or conventional forces worldwide.

An aide herded the duo to a lounge just outside the president’s private cabin. He had spent the better part of the day on the ground, locked in tense negotiations with a delegation of hostile House and Senate members eager to immediately reconvene somewhere, anywhere. They had been among the fortunate survivors and were beating up the president to loosen the reins of martial law and turn over many emergency powers to a rump Congress. The idea was anathema to the military, and even the president had grown apart from members of his own party. He slowly absorbed the reality that only a strong, almost dictatorial, chief executive had any hope of rescuing the crippled nation.

The chief of staff stuck his head through the oval cabin door. “The president will see you now.”

They joined the president around a large circular conference table bolted to the cabin deck. Thomas and Hargesty were in fatigues, caps in hand, while the president and the civilians were in an assortment of casual clothes. Secret Service agents stood guard around the periphery. The president dispensed with any greetings. He looked exhausted. He got right down to business.

“General Hargesty, what’s the status of the Russian redeployments?”

Hargesty folded his hands in front of him. “Our satellites have detected definite changes in Russian military activities. It’s too early to detect any patterns. General McClain swears they’re staging for a major attack, as soon as they acquire targeting data. But he’s exhausted any means of breaking up the formations short of committing the Tridents.” There was that awful word again.

The president let out a pained sigh and closed his eyes momentarily.

“We need to turn our attention to the people. We’re in a race against time. Winter is just over the horizon,” the president said.

The president was at the end of his rope. The tit-for-tat exchange since the initial waves of nuclear bombs was down to a tolerable level—only two detonations reported the last twenty-four hours. But both sides were under unbelievable pressure to finish off the other before they collapsed. Communications were degrading; intelligence from satellites had dropped off, and conventional military forces were melting like heated butter. A breakdown in logistics left both sides floundering around the world. Only the remaining nuclear forces held the promise of a quick fix.

“I don’t care what the Russians are doing,” said the president softly, “I want to disengage our forces. I want to show the Russians we’re serious about negotiations.”

Hargesty let out a huff. “Untangling conventional forces will take quite a while, Mr. President. Maybe months. And I’m not sure if it makes sense.”

The president was unfazed. His troubled thoughts were elsewhere. “I understand how you feel. But I want it clearly understood that nothing is to be done that could jeopardize our efforts at negotiations. Our forces are to be disengaged as planned and only act in self-defense. Any offensive operations must be explicitly approved by me. That includes actions against third parties.” It was a short, well-rehearsed speech that he had given repeatedly in the last two days. The tone told the story. Military commanders were dragging their feet. No one wanted to throw away hard won gains.

“Yes, sir,” Hargesty nodded. He himself had heard it on more than one occasion.

The president slid a red plastic folder marked, “Damage/Civilian Casualties Estimate,” in front of him. He opened it. His mood darkened noticeably. Military matters provided a temporary refuge, a chess game to avoid the pain and suffering beating at the door. They were all reluctant to face the terrible civilian death toll and destruction head-on.