Red Hammer 1994

Alexander was beside himself. Here he was the secretary of defense, and he felt like a hostage. He needed to get back into the command loop. He needed to find out what was happening. He turned to Thomas. “We’ve got to get some sort of comms going. See what you can do. Coordinate with General Bartholomew. Come up with a plan.”

Thomas grabbed the colonel and moved out. The other passengers were herded well away from the helo. Rangers bracketed the leaders from Washington as they marched down a narrow trail leading into the woods.

Alexander’s troupe had landed on the outskirts of Mathews Arm Campground, a popular overnight campground bordering Skyline Drive. Terrified holiday visitors had been ushered to the exit by men in combat gear. A handful of stubborn campers were under a makeshift house arrest.

Winding one hundred yards through the dense trees, the group emerged into a partial clearing. Here they would wait until further instructions.

The setting was surreal. The secretary of defense and of state and top generals and admirals from the Joint Staff were gathered in a picnic area at Mathews Arm, surrounded by troops. Despite the September heat, the night brought a chill at this elevation. They all stood awkwardly in suits and dress uniforms. Except for the clothes, it could have been something out of the civil war. The only thing missing was a campfire.

At thirteen minutes past nine, Alexander convened a stand-up, ad-hoc war council. Alexander had to raise his voice to be heard. The Rangers had provided makeshift lighting.

“I want this to be short,” began Alexander, kicking the dirt. “We’re not going to make any decisions until I’m certain the vice president has taken the oath of office. Besides, it will be more than two hours before the bombers reach the pole and another five or six until they complete their missions and we know the outcome. General Bartholomew?” He and Thomas had patched together a status report from various sources.

Bartholomew stepped forward. The command and control system was holding up fairly well. “NEACP is over Tennessee. Looking Glass has slipped west toward the Rockies, and the rest of the PACCS network has shifted north to help with line of sight to the bombers. TACAMO survived and are off each coast, linked to the submarines. We have confidence that all EAMs have been transmitted and received by the nuclear forces, including at-sea ballistic-missile submarines.” His tone was flat, unemotional.

Alexander interrupted. “That’s fine, but when does the network start falling apart?”

“Well,” the general stuttered, “certain aircraft will have to come down in ten to twelve hours. NEACP can last twenty-four.”

Alexander exploded. He was frustrated.

“Looking Glass was already up for hours when the attack broke. They’ve got to be running out of gas. The EAMs are out. We have to concentrate on reconfiguring for tomorrow and the day after.” He measured the group in the dim light.

“But, Mr. Secretary,” said a voice from the generals, “we may need to recall the bombers.”

“That’s bullshit,” shot back Alexander. “The president’s dead, the vice president is airborne God knows where, and the C in C of STRAT is scrambling to set up his mobile command post. And we’re standing in the goddamn forest!” The secretary glared, challenging someone else to make a stupid statement. “Nothing’s stopping the bombers,” he added.

A stunned silence descended. No one moved.

“Do we have direct comms with anyone?”

Thomas answered this one. “NEACP, Looking Glass, and CINCLANT through the helo’s radios. Not the best links, but we can communicate. We can relay to CINCPAC through an auxiliary command post. No luck with CINCEUR yet.” Thomas had been busy the last hour.

Alexander turned reflective, thinking out loud. He had calmed considerably. “We’ve got to get comms with STRATCOM’s mobile HQ and the vice president. Get ready for round two. We have to pull the government together before we’re overwhelmed. The civil authorities can limp along for a day or two, that’s it. Then they need our full attention. That gives us two to three days to fight this war and end it.”

Alexander thought for a moment about what he had just said. It sounded ludicrous. Something else came into his head. He looked at Thomas. “Anything on losses?” It was a topic no one wanted to discuss. Thomas would try.

“Estimates are eight-to-twelve-million deaths.” He waited for a reaction. The group exchanged injured looks, some lowering their heads. “My God,” a voice cried softly.

“So far the Russians haven’t hit soft targets like refineries and power plants near cities. That’s what has kept casualties lower than the first estimates. If they start hitting those, the number could grow to twenty to twenty-five million. We have to watch their bombers; they’re the key over the next eight to ten hours.”

Alexander seemed unaffected. “The Russians?”

“Hard to say. It’s all speculative.” The exchange was bizarre and clinical, like talking about grain futures.