Red Hammer 1994

Benton opened a set of French doors that introduced a large enclosed balcony featuring glass-topped tables and bamboo chairs. Various potted plants and purple-and-red bougainvillea draping the plaster walls provided color. The pleasant late-afternoon ocean breeze wafted into the second-story suite, billowing the cotton drapes like a nomad’s tent. The only sound was the soft hum of communications equipment ready for service. Benton stood with his arms folded in the doorway, staring out toward the far-off ocean. His men were in the hall and on the main floor, in constant contact by radios stuck to their ears.

“Ready, General Thomas,” Brinkman reported. “The president’s command center is on-line.”

Thomas wearily raised his head in response. “Thank you, that will be all for now.” Brinkman grabbed his cover and headed for the door. Benton started to follow but was halted midstride. “I want you to stay, Major Benton.”

Thomas reached and picked up the handset, resting it on his thigh, his palm covering the mouthpiece. “Go ahead and close the doors.” Benton complied and drew the drapes then took a seat in a cushioned chair opposite the bed. His face was nonjudgmental; his manner was relaxed. He and the general had come a long way in a short time.

Thomas raised the handset into position. “General Thomas.” His tongue felt like a dry log in his mouth.

“This is the president, General Thomas.” The habitual satellite two-second retransmission lag was always irritating, but especially so now given the nature of the exchange.

Thomas didn’t hold back. “Mr. President, I acted like a fool. I disgraced myself and humiliated my country. I betrayed your trust. I apologize. I’m offering my resignation effective immediately.” He felt the world lift off his shoulders with the confession. They had expected far too much from him. Benton frowned at Thomas, his head dropping in disappointment.

The line was silent for several seconds. The president’s voice was conciliatory, yet solemn. “I can’t fault you, General Thomas; you did all that was humanly possible. But I’m afraid I can’t take you up on your offer. You’re to finish your mission.”

Thomas sat erect, puzzled. “But, sir, it’s over. I’ve failed. There’s no chance of another meeting. The Spanish would be fools to put us in the same room again.”

The president took a deep breath that could be heard over forty-six hundred miles. “You have to try again,” he said, with special emphasis on the second word. “I won’t hear otherwise.” The words had a ring of finality.

Thomas didn’t answer, having no meaningful response handy; only a sigh seemed appropriate. He waited for the president to explain.

“I’m under tremendous pressure,” he began. “Hargesty and McClain, everyone really, is pressing me to act. The evidence is there. The Russians are staging for an attack, and just about everyone is demanding a preemptive strike. The Tridents, the bombers, everything. I’m at my wits’ end, General Thomas. I feel like I’m losing my mind. This is how the president felt at the NMCC, isn’t it? You know, don’t you?” The explanation evidenced a man on the edge.

Thomas’s head sagged into one hand; the other gripped the handset even tighter. The memories flooded back. The helplessness, the anguish, none of them would survive if history were repeated. His heart ached for the man on the other end of the line, a man he had come to respect and admire, a man the country desperately needed in one piece, functional, in command. Now this new president was threatened with the same fate as his hapless predecessor, being overwhelmed by dark forces he couldn’t comprehend, let alone control.

“I don’t know what to say, Mr. President,” Thomas said softly, a touch of sadness in his voice.

“Stop this; you have to. Don’t force me to give the order for military action. It’s madness. You know that better than anyone.” The president’s voice trembled.

“The Russians’ demands were outrageous, impossible, and they knew it,” Thomas answered evenly. “You’d be overthrown, sir, pushed aside, if you ever agreed to such terms. It was a trap, and we were suckered.” The president ignored the rationale.

“I don’t care. You have to try again. I’ll leave it up to you. What you think is best. You know what would be acceptable. You have to succeed. You have to!” The president was almost in tears.

Anger finally broke through Thomas’s mounting frustration. “I’m not a goddamn miracle worker, Mr. President. Those bastards don’t want peace. Hargesty and McClain are most-likely right.”

The president’s reply rose in intensity equal to Thomas’s. “Why do you think I sent you? I knew this might happen. Probably nothing you could have said would have mattered. But you held your ground and acquitted yourself well. You did better than you think and better than anyone I could have sent in your place. That was only the first round.” The president paused. “We have word, back-channel, that the Russians are willing to meet again. Tonight.”