“Does anyone disagree?” asked the president.
There was a painful pause.
“Mr. President,” prompted Alexander, “the bombers are burning up fuel.”
“I’m afraid I can’t deal with this anymore,” the president answered with a wave of his hand. “We’re involved in total war. The military should make the decisions. I will approve your orders. All I ask is that we minimize casualties. I don’t want Russian cities targeted. I insist.”
The president stood, wiping his face up and down with his hands cupped together. By now he was drenched and shivered from the blast of cold air from the ventilation ducts. “I’ve completely failed,” he said sadly, shaking his head. “I’m going to be alone for a moment.”
“Mr. President,” said Alexander, “there is nothing you could’ve done to prevent this.”
The president didn’t look back.
“Mr. President,” he called again. “You have to leave for NEACP.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” replied the president, stopping. “There may be something I can do here. You’ll leave, though.”
“But Mr. President,” protested Alexander.
“I’m still the commander in chief. I’m ordering you to go. I won’t hear any more about it.” He turned and shuffled off toward an unoccupied corner.
“You’d better get moving,” said the chairman to Alexander. “I’ll stay with the president. The vice chairman and the CINC’s will be notified.”
At the main entrance, a small cluster of military officers and civilians began to muster. Thomas called to Alexander, putting the last of a stack of documents in a canvas bag.
“Mr. Secretary, the helicopter is here.” Alexander acknowledged him.
The president walked over. He extended his hand. “God bless you and give you the strength to carry out your duties.” By now tears flowed freely down his cheeks; he made no attempt to check his feelings.
“God’s speed,” said the chairman, firmly grasping Alexander’s hand in a two-handed shake. He did the same to Thomas. “Bob,” he said, not letting go for the longest time, “The secretary needs your support more than ever.” Thomas sadly thanked the general. In his mind, he imagined that his personal journey of suffering was just beginning. In a flash of self-pity, he envied the men and women who stayed behind. The party turned and departed.
The displays in the distance now showed an eerie pattern of colored lines and symbols denoting weapon trajectories, targets destroyed, and forces surviving. Somewhere among the mass of data one could predict the outcome. It had been sixty-five minutes since the first Russian missiles had been detected by DSP. The watch commander approached the chairman.
“Sir,” he whispered, “we have confirmed that warheads are targeted at Washington. Time to impact, twenty-two minutes.”
“I understand,” answered the chairman softly, “notify NEACP and the others that we’ll be transferring command authority in fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” said the officer, moving away quickly.
CHAPTER 20
Thomas led the procession through the dank cinder-block corridor, forcing the pace. His sturdy frame bowed under the weight of the canvas bag slung over his shoulder. It was stuffed with top-secret war plans that even as they evacuated the NMCC were being executed by the theater CINCs.
Thomas pulled one hand free and glanced at his Seiko; it was 7:33 p.m., over an hour since all hell had broken loose. The other evacuees trailed in his footsteps, twelve men in all, bunched together. Thomas’ sky-blue shirt was soaked with perspiration, his tie and uniform blouse discarded earlier along with his cover — excess baggage at this point. Uniforms would be waiting.
The Federal Emergency Management Agency or FEMA planners, those men and women who contemplated global nuclear war, worried about such things. Underground food stores, secret fuel-storage sites, emergency communications of every variety, prerecorded videos for every disaster imaginable, were all developed and put on the shelf. Those dedicated souls chased every arcane disaster scenario to all logical and even illogical conclusions. It was their sole purpose in life.
Thomas’s face had worsened. Flushed, the cobweb of age lines were accentuated by the harsh, artificial light. The enormity of the last hour had sunk home. Thomas was inundated by a tidal wave of hopelessness. But he pushed on. They all pushed on, the strong and the weak alike.
Thirty yards down the corridor, a squad of Pentagon guards waited. Thomas was struck by the image of the young marines in their crisp khaki and blue semi-dress uniforms, weighted down with camouflage flack vests, web belts, helmets, and tightly gripped M-16s at port arms. Tension was etched on their adolescent fa-ces. “Follow me,” shouted a stern-looking marine major, his hand squeezing his Beretta 9MM pistol. The official party picked up the pace to a clumsy jog. The marines fell in on the flanks, eyes riveted on their major.
The assemblage crowded into a large freight elevator that would whisk them up to the underground parking garage. The door slid shut with a thud. Government civilians and military officers exchanged awkward glances, shuffling to maintain their balance in the crush of people, equipment, and baggage. The elevator accelerated rapidly, sinking stomachs, and stopped just as quickly. The door jerked open, revealing an astonishing picture in the garage.
In the dim light, groups of Pentagon officials congregated, while nearby soldiers held their hands high and shouted, marshaling orders to the stream of men and women who poured into the garage from the offices above. Many had been forced to stay late, despite the long weekend, when the dispersal had been ordered. Groups engaged in animated exchanges. A handful in shock wandered aimlessly. The clamor was deafening. Surrounding them all were heavily armed marines and army troops who stood in clusters, awaiting instructions. They had been dragged out of nearby barracks on zero notice.
The secretary’s VIP troupe was shepherded directly toward the steep ramp leading to the narrow street on the northeast side of the Pentagon. The tumultuous racket stopped as people recognized who had exited the elevator. A brigadier general shouted, “Attenhut!” Nearby military snapped to attention. Alexander graciously acknowledged the show of respect. Thomas experienced a flush of shame that comes with preferential treatment in time of crisis. It was no secret what would most likely happen to these brave men and women.
Trudging up the ramp, the warm garage transitioned to oppressive heat. The hot, humid summer air hung heavily near the entrance, which was bathed in a soft, early evening pastel glow. In the distance, they could hear the reverberation of helicopter blades beating the air. Reaching the crest, the lead marines hunched down, scanning the perimeter, weapons ready. The major signaled a halt then moved forward and disappeared out of sight. The group instinctively squatted on the angled concrete. Seconds later, the major reappeared. He came directly over to Alexander.
“The helo’s ready, sir, but there’s only room for six more. The JCS people are already on board.” Pained looks spread through the group.
“The others will have to take another helo. The colonel will help them,” he added, pointing to an army colonel barking orders nearby.
“All right,” Alexander said, wearily. “General Thomas, Secretary Genser, his aide, Colonel Bensen, and the doc.” Colonel Bensen carried the top-secret nuclear release codes and authenticators; the doctor was an expert in trauma injuries and radiation sickness.
“Follow the major.” Alexander turned and let Thomas pass, touching his arm in a comforting gesture. Thomas began to say something. The words caught in his throat. He remembered the chairman’s parting words; he would serve Alexander to the end.
“To the left, gentlemen.” The major took off at a jog up the last few yards of the incline. The group struggled to keep up. The sight at the top of the ramp was stunning. A dozen helos, a mix of huge CH-53Cs and army Blackhawks, sat idling on the grass and frontage roads, their turbines whining beneath slowly turning rotors that whipped the foliage on the trees. To the right, an army UH-60 Blackhawk leaped in the air, hanging momentarily then banking sharply and accelerating toward the north.