World War III

The Crisis Room was more than one room, of course, and it was staffed around the clock, generally with military communications specialists and NSC advisors, whether there was a current crisis to be resolved or not. The heart of the WHCR was the XCONSTRAT Room, an incomplete acronym for Executive Conference and Strategic Planning. XCONSTRAT was just what one might expect such a room to look like. It was large and had no windows and was illuminated by rows and rows of fluorescent lights. Its two main features were an enormous back-screen projection map on what was considered the “front” wall (the map could be made to show a flat version of the entire planet or any portion thereof, blown up) and a conference table with places for a dozen executive crisis-participants.

Usually this room was unused; the back-screen projection map was off and the lights were out except when a security-cleared maid came in to polish the table.

Tonight the lights were on and the table was cluttered with styrofoam coffee cups, brimming ashtrays and Xerox copies of contingency planning reports in gray folders marked TOP SECRET. Present were members of the JCS — General Max Schriff, Army Chief of Staff; Admiral Vernon Blanchard, Chief of Naval Operations; and Air Force General Phillip Olafson, JCS Chairman. The nonmilitary executives present were CIA Director Burton Tankersley, Acting FBI Director Naomi Glass, Secretary of Defense Dr. Alan Tennant, Secretary of the Threats Committee Elizabeth Rawley and National Security Advisor Dr. Jules Farber.

Farber was the acknowledged chairman of the group, standing in for the president. They’d been here now well over two hours. The projected map on the screen was of northeast Alaska. A bright red marker had been placed at the location of a NORAD radar station that hadn’t been heard from in almost two days, and a dotted line had been drawn to a spot understood to be Juniper Junction near a place called Shublik Ridge.

The men in uniform were in shirtsleeves. The civilians had not even loosened a tie. Farber was speaking when the door opened and the president entered.

“Keep your seats, gentlemen,” he said. “I’m sorry to take so long, Jules. I didn’t want to cancel anything to give the press the idea that something urgent was brewing. The Cincinnati Boys Choir did two encores in the West Room and I couldn’t get away sooner.” He took his seat at the head of the table and glanced at the map. His demeanor changed immediately from social president to commander in chief.

“So, what the hell have we got in Alaska, gentlemen? Trouble?”

“It’s a special unit, Mr. President,” Farber said, speaking for the group. “They apparently neutralized a NORAD radar station”—he indicated the spot on the map with a pointer—”here. It bought them a radar-free corridor for a Pathfinder drop… paratroopers. A large desant unit.”

“Forgive me, Jules. You have to speak English. What’s a desant unit?”

“In Soviet terms it’s usually a battalion-strength force of elite troops designed to drop, clear, march and kill. They’re fast, talented and… deadly.”

McKenna nodded at the map. “And that’s where they are?” He squinted to see the name. “Shublik Ridge?”

“That’s where our people made contact with them,” said General Schriff of the army. The four stars on his collar glittered in the artificial light. “It’s the last known location of the unit. Assuming their rate of march is consistent and that Colonel Caffey’s observation represents the entire unit, they should be approximately”— he stood and pointed out a spot on the map a few inches to the west of the last dotted line—”there.”

“What I want to know, General,” McKenna said with a smile, “is where the hell they’re going?”

“We believe the intruding force will strike at one of three tactical positions within four days, Mr.

President,” said Secretary of Defense Tennant. “The civilian community of Stagwon, the ranger post at Mancha Creek or the pipeline at White Hill.”

“There’s nothing strategic about Stagwon unless they’re out to get laid,” said Tankersley of the CIA.

McKenna looked at General Schriff. “What about this ranger post?”

“It’s nothing vital, Mr. President. Certainly not worth a strike force of this size.”

“So, that leaves the pipeline,” the president said. He looked around the table. “Right?”

“We haven’t deduced any realistic motivation for a Soviet strike force to be marching on our Alaskan oil source, Mr. President,” Farber said. He removed his glasses and rubbed at them with an enormous handkerchief. “None that we can agree on that is worth the risk, that is.”

Defense Secretary Tennant said, “What would they do with it? There’s no possible way they can use the pipeline short of siphoning off a few barrels. Anyway, if the Soviets needed oil their thrust would be in the Persian Gulf area — that’s in their own backyard.”