World War III

Rudenski had chosen to be here, of course, and Gorny had refused to humiliate himself further by sitting at the desk that he no longer owned.

“You sent Marshal Budner to Special Operations to make personally sure that the Americans have initiated a Defense Condition Two alert,” Rudenski said impatiently. “You have that confirmation. So, tell me, comrade, what troubles you now?”

Even Rudenski had dropped the charade, Gorny thought. He no longer referred to him as chairman.

“Everything troubles me, General.” Gorny continued to stare outside. “I have accepted the puppet role because I thought somehow I could make a difference… that I could contain your recklessness, at least, direct it where it would not mean nuclear incineration. But now, I think, I can only look forward to the bullet in the back of the neck at some point when I am no longer a figurehead of further use to you and your… supporters.” He glanced at Rudenski. “Soon, I expect.”

Rudenski waved an impatient hand. “You are a romantic and dramatic fool, Dimitri. There is no danger to you. There is no danger with the Americans, except the threat of danger. Their escalation to DefCon Two is meant to be a scare tactic and only that.”

“Then let me say that their tactic is successful. I am frightened.”

“Yes, I know. That is your trouble. You do not act with decisiveness. You used to, comrade. But those days are over. The Americans have picked your once-ferocious teeth.”

“Yes,” Gorny said, “so here we are… we and the Americans. Standing together deep in darkness, waiting for a whimpered apology from the other that will not come.”

“Enough!” Rudenski stomped his foot. “Comrade, the Americans will not go the full mile. Why will you not understand that? You have continually failed to understand just as Khrushchev failed during the Cuban crisis. The Americans will go to the edge, they will threaten and shout, but in the end they will back away. You have not studied them as I have. If you had you would realize that they are waiting desperately for our next move. They need a move from us to make them pull back. Then you will see… you’ll see who blinks first.”

Gorny smiled. “It is interesting, General, how you can reduce the fate of the two most powerful countries in the world to a simple children’s foolish dare.”

“They will not initiate a preemptive strike, that is all you must remember. We can safely increase the pressure.”

“Safely? I think you forget what the word means.”

“I suggest that we send ten squadrons of our new 28B Backfire Bombers toward the US Pacific coast. It would be a gesture they could hardly misinterpret.”

Gorny agreed with a sad smile. “Hardly.”

“You will contact President McKenna on the direct line in, say, six hours from now. The bombers will take off half an hour before the call. In that way the aircraft will not have been spotted on their radar.”

Rudenski began pacing again. “You will inform the president that the bombers are, in fact, airborne.

You will tell him that we do not need the bombers to launch a first strike, but that they are only there as an illustration of our determination. You will speak of peace. You are a consummate advocate of peace, comrade. You have even convinced me. You have only to express your resolve that grain or oil is not worth a holocaust. I promise you, McKenna will accept our terms.”

“You promise?”

Rudenski nodded confidently. “Of course. Even McKenna is not a fool.”

Gorny almost laughed out loud. “No, you’re right. Finally we agree totally, General Rudenski.

McKenna is not a fool.”

JONES’S STRIP

A light but bitter gust pulled at the wind sock as Caffey loaded the last box of ammunition onto the helicopter. He shoved it back under a canvas seat and made a quick inventory before shutting the hatch — a dozen M-16s, two machine guns, ammunition tins for three thousand rounds and half a box of grenades, frag and phosphorus. For the first time since taking over this command, he thought, he had probably more weapons and ammunition than he’d ever use. He slammed the hatch closed, then jogged back to the cabin. They were as ready as they were ever going to be.

Parsons was helping Kate pack the radio as Caffey entered the cabin. The warm air was laced with the smell of curious antiseptics — they were down to a can of first-aid spray for the badly wounded, sun tan lotion, a tube of Chap-Stik and a jar of Vaseline for the burned and rubbing alcohol as a disinfectant.

Most of the wounded who were conscious lay on their cots with blank, senseless expressions, staring nowhere. Those who could walk acted as medics to their buddies. Three men had died in the last four hours. AH sense of nightmare had evaporated; the grim tolerance of death and dying was the reality now. The bodies of the unattended dead lay uncovered where they’d died. A shortage of blankets for those yet alive was the higher concern. There was no dignity in death.

Caffey moved to the cluster of men around the chalk board where he’d drawn up their final battle plan.