“Our bomber force is so small that reaction time is critical, ma’am,” Freeman said. “As soon as NORAD and Strategic Command get a positive attack indication, they flush the bombers. It’s the only way to ensure survivability.”
“What about the subs and the missiles?” the President asked, sheepishly tearing off the end of a cigar to chomp on — but not inhale. The First Lady glared at him but said nothing. “Strategic Command launches them too …?”
“No, sir. Only you can order the missiles to launch and the bombers to prearm their weapons and execute their strike missions,” Freeman replied. “However, under DEFCON Two, the nuclear subs carry out certain instructions if they lose connectivity with you. If the loss of communications continues, the subs can launch an attack.”
“I thought you said only I can launch the missiles,” the President said in exasperation, looking confused.
“Sir, that’s true — only you can order a launch,” he said, thinking, Thank God he did avoid the draft — he just doesn’t get it. “But nuclear subs are designed to patrol for months at a time completely undetected. They must expose themselves to receive instructions, which they will do every two to eight weeks, depending on the defense readiness condition. If they come up and don’t connect, under DEFCON Two they will proceed to their launch points and try one more time to connect. If that fails, they will launch.”
“They can launch without my orders …?” he asked, his face still clouded.
“Sir, the sea-launched missiles are our most important, our most deadly, our most survivable weapon,” Freeman explained, thinking, He isn’t this dumb. He knew this stuff, why is he doing this? Is he panicking? Well, it sure as hell isn’t the time to come unglued. “If the entire command and control system is destroyed by a nuclear attack, we don’t want the subs to be out of commission just because they were down hiding from the bad guys. Therefore, under high-threat conditions like this, sub captains have the ability to launch a limited attack if they don’t get the order not to do so.”
“This is ridiculous, General,” the First Lady said through gritted teeth. “This is a nightmare. What kind of control system is this? A nuclear war can start and we didn’t even order it …?”
“The President ordered it by going to DEFCON Two, ma’am.”
“Well, cancel the fucking DEFCON Two, then!” the First Lady hissed. “I want control of those warheads, General… I want—” And then she stopped, finally realizing what she was saying. She took a deep breath, patted her hair, recomposed herself, and smiled coldly. “I think any procedure that delegates any measure of authority for the release of nuclear weapons outside this office is wrong, General. I think something should be done about it … that’s all. You see my point.” She was all sugar and spice.
“Let’s worry about that later, honey.” The President sighed. “We’ll keep the planes on the ground and the subs on patrol for now. I think I’ve proven to Turkey and the rest of NATO that I’ll support them, but if we need to launch the bombers to show Turkey or Russia we mean business, so be it. As far as the subs go, I want to stay in contact with the command center”—the President looked at the Navy captain, at the briefcase, at the top of his desk, at nothing, then said—”by telephone. I’m staying right here.”
“Yes, sir,” Freeman said, glad that that was resolved before the Second Coming. He motioned to the naval officer, who packed up his gear and departed to his office on the ground floor. In the meantime, an officer had arrived from the Pentagon with a locked case full of papers. The President spent a moment looking the cover pages over, handed them over to Freeman while the coffee and sandwiches were brought in, then: “So spill it, General.”
“It was a single aircraft, Mr. President, a MiG-25R Foxbat reconnaissance aircraft.” Freeman explained. “We’ve been monitoring many reconnaissance flights over the Ukraine, but this one flew in a long oval track, a total of six hundred sixty miles, right through central Turkey. A simply incredible mission. It passed within sensor range of ten major Turkish and NATO military installations on one twenty-minute pass. Broad daylight, clear skies — it probably took home some great snapshots.”
“It made it out of there?” the President asked incredulously, his cigar almost falling in his lap. “How? Didn’t they have fighter patrols up?”
“There’s a NATO AWACS radar plane orbiting north of Ankara,” Freeman replied. “By the time the AWACS plane detected the Foxbat, two hundred miles over the Black Sea, and fighters could be scrambled to intercept it, it was over land. By the time the fighters were set up to pursue, it was in the turn and heading out. By the time the first fighter got a shot off at it, it was back out over the Black Sea. And the Foxbat flies almost as fast as a Sparrow missile. No ground air defense units ever got a shot off at it — didn’t even see it. It dropped leaflet canisters near Incirlik Air Base in southern Turkey — the canisters missed by several miles — but it made a direct hit on Kayseri Air Base. They’re faxing a copy of the leaflets now.”
“Why?” the President asked, amazed. “Why did they do this? What in the hell are they trying to do?”
“It’s a clear warning, sir,” Freeman said. “More psychological than anything else, but we can’t dismiss it as trivial. The tactic’s psychological effect can be devastating. The crews see a bomb carrying leaflets one moment, but the next time — who knows?”
“Sorry I’m late, Mr. President,” the Secretary of Defense, Donald Scheer, said as he entered the Oval Office. “It feels as if I’m always here, but I always miss the helicopter.” He went right over to Freeman, who handed him the report sent over by the Pentagon courier. After reading it for a few moments, he commented, “It’s a warning not to get involved, Mr. President. We’re playing in the Russians’ backyard here, after all. They control the skies over the Black Sea, they have a Coalition-sized force already in place in the region, and they’re moving that force slowly south into the Ukraine. All the undamaged Ukrainian aircraft and base facilities are in Russian hands now. We’re outgunned and outmanned, and the Russians just wanted to remind us of that little fact.”
“It’s bullshit. It’s hubris. It’s grandstanding,” the President mused, as if talking it over with himself, calculating their strategy as if this were some election to be won. “Did they think this was going to be productive or something? Did they think this was going to make us stop what we’re doing?”
Was the President serious? Freeman was more than a bit worried. Here was a man who could do damn near anything he wanted. He had the power of the greatest industrial nation and the world’s finest military behind him — and yet he was concerned about a simple psy-op leaflet drop. The most devastating psychological effect of the Russian mission was obviously done right here … in this office.
“Mr. President, we’ve got a great many things we need to do,” Freeman insisted. “I think our first priority is to get the Cabinet and the National Security Council in here to go over some options I’ve drawn up. We need to contact President Dalon of Turkey and the other NATO ministers and get approval for forward basing for coalition forces. We should—”
“You want more military forces involved in this thing, General?” the President exclaimed. “Put more troops in Turkey, or Greece, or Italy? We put twelve planes into a small base in Turkey, and the Russians blew a supersonic fighter through there. What in the hell will they do if we move a couple thousand planes?”