World War III

Gorny squinted as the next slide filled the projection screen. He was not in a mood to watch satellite photos at this hour of the morning. He’d only been back from Iceland for a few hours when he received Rudenski’s urgent call to come quickly — the Americans were making military preparations. So he came. He sat in the special Kremlin projection room with Rudenski and Marshal of the Soviet Armies Victor Budner and a handful of other generals from Moscow Center while a colonel with a remote-control button sat mutely to one side and commanded the slides onto the screen with his thumb while Budner and Rudenski provided the narrative. Gorny didn’t like being here. He didn’t need slides. He preferred photos. And, besides, this was the coldest room in the Kremlin.

“These are only two hours old, comrade Chairman,” Marshal Budner was saying. “US Minutemen silos. You see, they have taken crisis-alert configurations.”

Another slide flashed on the screen.

“Notice that our reconnaissance photos reveal security lockups of the missile bases. Undoubtedly they are beginning to seal off underground bunkers.”

Another slide, this time an air base.

“And here, B-52s on alert, Seventh Bomb Wing, Carswell, Texas… Forty-second Bomb Wing, Loring, Maine… Second Bomb Wing, Bossier City, Louisiana…”

“Forty-five minutes ago,” Rudenski said, “the aircraft carrier Eisenhower left Subic Bay. Its departure was unscheduled.”

“And here, comrade Chairman—”

“Enough!” Gorny exclaimed. “Turn off that damn machine, Colonel, and put on the lights.” The overhead lights flickered on and the chairman looked away from the brightness.

“The Americans have instituted a DefCon Three,” Budner said dramatically.

“Of course they have,” Gorny snapped. “What did you expect?” He looked at Rudenski. “And they know that we know they have.”

“The first-stage alert is purely cosmetic,” Rudenski said.

“Nothing from this point will be cosmetic, General Rudenski. President McKenna is a spirited man. He has a keen sense for his people. I would not want to press him too far.”

“He isn’t part of their military clique,” Rudenski countered. “He has no stomach for war, comrade.”

Gorny’s eyes narrowed. “And we do?”

“The Americans will not go to war over grain. They would never institute a first strike under any circumstances.” Rudenski spoke as if he were reading it. “The DefCon Three is for us to see, not for them to use.”

“Any issue of first strike has already been established as far as the Americans are concerned,” Gorny said. “We have combat troops in their country. Any action that they take while that circumstance continues is logically, and legally, defensive.”

Rudenski nodded patiently. “Yes, it is a move, I agree, but just a move. They’re compensating, comrade Chairman. They know as well as we do that a first strike on their part could only trigger our greatly superior second-strike capabilities. The Americans know how to count warheads. We have taught them how to count, if nothing else. They know we can survive their first strike.”

“Do they really?”

“Of course!” Rudenski very nearly shouted. “How many times must you be told that, comrade Chairman?”

“How many times? I’ll tell you how many! A million times! That’s how many times I have to be told we can survive a nuclear war… a million times!”

“But comrade Chairman,” Marshal Budner began diplomatically, “on paper we can—”

“A billion pieces of paper cannot purge the uncountable dead that would result in a nuclear exchange!

Why do you insist on being blind to the fact that war would destroy us! We would lose, comrades, as surely as we would be the ultimate victors! Do you want to live in a land populated by ghosts and rotting bodies?”

“It will never get to that point,” Rudenski said. “I guarantee you, comrade. Now that I have met President McKenna, I’m more convinced than ever before. He would not allow a war. He will back down from us… and we will have our grain.”

Gorny looked slowly around the room. “I think, comrade Rudenski, that we have not met the same man.”

The colonel general strode to the front of the room and stood before the projection screen. “If the Americans want to play games, so let it be. They’ve ordered a DefCon Three… we’ll counter with a Mach Eagle.”

Budner nodded. “Mach Eagle is amiable enough.”

“Amiable?” Gorny’s eyes grew wide. “Mach Eagle!”

“As amiable as their DefCon Three. And, comrade Chairman, just as visible to them.”

Gorny shook his head violently. “No!” He stood up. “I will not allow further escalation! This is madness, comrades. Do you hear me? — madness!”

Rudenski let out a long, patient sigh. He glanced at Marshal Budner and nodded. “Yes, I think Mach Eagle is proper. Also, I think your suggestion about the Arabian Sea is worthwhile. See to them both, will you, Marshal?” He looked back at Chairman Gorny. “Thank you, comrade,” Rudenski said in a dismissing tone.