Red Hammer 1994

Thomas heard a commotion and turned to see Alexander and his troupe marching through the back entrance. Alexander’s face was flushed; sweat cascaded down his cheeks. Before he even had time to catch his breath, General Patterson was shouting in one ear while the chairman acted out the president’s response in the other. Alexander reacted with predictable overload.

“He’s incapable of making a decision,” was the part Thomas caught. Alexander nodded in sympathy. The chain of command was cast in concrete. It had to be. Any breach or challenge to authority would be like tossing a hand grenade in a crowded bus station. They could cajole, bluster, and rant, but the president had to make the final decision.

It seemed an eternity before the Commander-in-Chief returned. The poor man sounded on the brink of a nervous breakdown. He panted through his sentences. A touch of anger crept into his voice.

“Jonathon says that I should leave for the airborne command post. He says there is time to consider options, to contact the Russians. I agree. I need more information. I can’t be expected to make a decision like you’re asking for on so little information.” The president paused. His anger ripened as he sensed his words fell hollow on the men in the NMCC. “Jonathon summarized Option 2M. Do you really recommend launching all our ICBMs, General? Haven’t the Russians launched only a fraction of theirs?”

The president grew reflective. “We have to stop this. This must be a mistake, an accidental launch by some crazy local commander. We’ll contact the Russians on the hotline. We must stop this!”

Thomas was an expert on the various SIOP options and started to mentally recite the objections from Genser. The answers would seem as jargon to civilians. How, for God’s sake, do you debate nuclear targeting strategies in thirty seconds to men backed into a corner? He bent and whispered what he considered relevant to Alexander. The secretary nodded.

“Mr. President,” interjected Alexander, sensing the hopelessness, “The chairman is right. This was a deliberate attack. Those SS-18s carry nearly one thousand reentry vehicles; with their accuracy, they can destroy the majority of our ICBMs sitting in their silos before we fire a shot. If that happens, we’ll have few ICBMs left, while the Russians will have much of their ICBM force intact, in reserve.” Alexander broke his delivery infrequently, coughing into his balled hand, his dry throat turning hoarse.

“We’d have to capitulate and seek a brokered peace on Russian terms, or strike with our bombers and submarines. They don’t provide the hard target kill capability the ICBMs do. We would strike softer targets, industrial sites and military bases, and invite a similar response from the Russians. That’s what they’re counting on; that we’ll be unwilling to conduct a retaliatory strike that could lead to a wider exchange. We must retaliate to convince the Russians to negotiate on our terms.”

Thomas nodded approvingly at his boss. He had done well. Alexander acknowledged Thomas. The secretary had recited the proper script, but his heart was crushed. This was a different Alexander than Thomas had ever witnessed. A nearly broken man, heroically battling the odds as the strength drained from his body.

“I don’t consider launching our entire ICBM force as a proportional response,” replied the president angrily.

“Mr. President,” interrupted the secretary of state, “We must get you out of Washington immediately and arrange a rendezvous with NEACP. We’ll have the bulk of our strategic forces intact, believe me. Launching our ICBMs will only convince the Russians that we are committed to massive retaliation. Ask the chairman what types of targets will be hit with 2M. It’s more than ICBM silos.”

“Is that true?” asked the president, sounding wounded.

“Yes,” answered the chairman directly, “there are other key military targets. But they’re necessary to break up the Russian attack and stop a second wave.”

“Are any of the targets near Moscow?” barked the secretary of state.

“God damn it!” shouted the chairman, “We’re at war. The sons of bitches attacked us; tens of thousands of Americans will be slaughtered. I’ll be damned if we should sit by and let the bastards detonate over one thousand nuclear warheads on our soil without lifting a finger. Mr. President, we need a decision!”

“I say we explore every alternative before we commit national suicide, Mr. President. It’s our only hope,” countered Genser.

“Will other weapons be used, General?” asked the president wearily. The talk of numbers of this and that had cluttered his brain.

“A small number of SLBMs. Any bombers in the air will be recalled and sent to designated recovery locations to await further orders. I must emphasize that we’ve only ten minutes to decide.”

“Very well,” responded the president, emotion choking his words. “I wish to confer off-line with Secretary Genser.”

“Yes, sir,” answered the chairman and Alexander softly in unison.