Even as I spoke I realised that the notion of fighting bravely against the odds is completely irrelevant in the context of nuclear war.
But General Howard saw this as an opportunity to put in a plug for Trident. He pointed out that we would have much more fire power at our disposal when it is delivered. And therefore wed have a much greater deterrent.
Meanwhile, I said, thank God weve got our conventional forces.
They all looked at me, slightly sceptically.
Prime Minister, said the General stiffly, our conventional forces could hold the Russians for seventy-two hours at most.
At most?
At most.
The General was standing at attention. It looked most odd in his civilian suit. As a matter of fact, I thought irrelevantly, all these men around me were unmistakably soldiers, even though none of them were in uniform. Unless you call baggy blue pinstripe suits a uniform.
I forced myself to consider the ghastly implications of the latest piece of information that Id just taken on board. So, in the event of a Russian attack, I would have to make an instant decision, would I?
General Howard shook his head and smiled. No, Prime Minister. Youd probably have twelve hours.
Twelve hours? Thats what I call instant. I asked him if we shouldnt do something about that.
The General agreed emphatically. He thinks we certainly should do something about it. But, he informed me bitterly, the military has been told by the politicians for thirty years that this country cant afford the conventional forces to do the job.
Sir Humphrey, at my shoulder, nodded.
Conventional forces are terribly expensive, Prime Minister, he explained. Much cheaper just to press a button.
January 24th
I had a sleepless night last night. My visit to the MOD had unsettled me quite profoundly. I couldnt get those figures out of my head. My powers of concentration are pretty remarkable [we believe Hacker intended no irony here Ed.] but today I found it hard to keep my mind on my work.
Seventy-two hours, I found myself murmuring in the middle of a meeting with Bernard.
Um, Prime Minister? He was trying to bring me back to what wed been discussing. Isnt seventy-two hours a bit generous for a meeting with the New Zealand High Commissioner?
He was being facetious, I suppose. He could see I was thinking about the length of time that NATO forces could hold the Russians. I asked him if we could persuade the Americans to strengthen their conventional forces.
Bernard felt that it wouldnt really help. Apparently the American troops in Germany are all so drug-ridden that they dont know which side theyre on anyway. And on the last NATO exercise the US troops dispersed and picnicked in the woods with lady soldiers.
I asked him about the other NATO armies. He said they were all right on weekdays. I asked him to make himself clear.
The Dutch, Danish and Belgian armies all go home for the weekend.
This was the most extraordinary thing Id heard yet. So, I followed through with my usual relentless logic, if the Russians are going to invade wed prefer them, on the whole, to do it between Monday and Friday.
He nodded.
[In fact, even if Warsaw Pact forces had invaded between Monday and Friday it would hardly have helped the NATO forces. The NATO barracks were so far behind their forward positions that the invaders would have, in any case, reached those positions first Ed.]
Is this widely known? I asked, amazed.
He could see I was thinking of the Russians. He explained that if he knew it, the Russians certainly do. The Kremlin usually gets NATO defence information before it filters through to us at Number Ten.
I summed up. So it all comes back to Trident.
When it comes, he agreed.
When it comes, I mused, wondering when that would really be.
If it works, Bernard added.
If it works? What did he mean?
Casually, he told me. Frequently, Prime Minister, when new weapons are delivered the warheads dont fit the ends of the rockets. Thats what happened with Polaris. You know the sort of thing. Its all in the files. He flipped open a file. Wiring faults, microchip failure. Ground-control transmitter on a different frequency from the receiver on the missile. He looked up at me apologetically. We didnt have the means of delivering Polaris for some years. Cruise is probably the same. Trident might be too.
I told him that I considered this absolutely intolerable, that we should take the manufacturers to court.
Bernard shook his head sadly, and explained that it is impossible for us to risk the publicity. And hes right of course. Security makes it impossible. And the manufacturers know it.
I asked him about changing manufacturers.
Oh we do. He sighed. All the time. But the trouble is that all the manufacturers know it too. Thats why that torpedo landed on Sandwich Golf Course.
I thought Id misheard him. A torpedo on Sandwich Golf Course? Why hadnt we seen that in the papers?
Bernard knew all about it. There was a cover-up. The members just found a new bunker on the seventh fairway the next morning.
I didnt know whether I was more concerned about the cover-up or the malfunctioning torpedoes. I asked Bernard why even our torpedoes dont work. He reassured me. Apparently its only the new ones that dont work. All the others are working fine -- the ones that were designed during World War II.
But these are forty years old. Why, I wanted to know, do they work better than our latest weapons? The answer was so obvious that I should have thought of it myself: the old torpedoes had lots of testing. We cant afford to test modern weapons properly -- partly because its too expensive and partly because if there is a nuclear war it wont last long enough for weapons tests.
I wondered what other revelations lay in store, now that I was entitled to know all our military secrets. I decided Id better find out. What else dont I know about the defence of the United Kingdom? I asked Bernard.
I dont know, Prime Minister. I dont know what you dont know.
I dont think he was being insolent because he went on to give me some useful advice. If I want another view, I might find it valuable to have a word with the Governments Chief Scientific Adviser. Apparently he sees the problem rather differently from the MOD.
I told Bernard to get him in at once. Bernard was hesitant. A late drink may be better, he advised. Better not to let the Cabinet Office know. Sir Humphrey gets rather upset -- he doesnt regard the Chief Scientific Adviser as one of us.
I looked up the chief Scientific Adviser in Whos Who. Professor Isaac Rosenblum. DSO at Arnhem. How could Humphrey not trust a man who fought on our side at Arnhem, and who was decorated by His Majesty for bravery?
Im afraid that it doesnt make up for his speaking with an Austrian accent, Bernard remarked. And he certainly didnt go to Oxford or Cambridge. He didnt even go to the LSE.
One of Bernards little jokes. I think.
January 25th
Tonight I asked Professor Isaac Rosenblum up to my flat for a late drink. And now my mind is reeling. Its not very often in politics that you meet, and talk to, a genuine intellectual. I used to be a polytechnic lecturer, and you dont get very many intelligent conversations in academic life either. [Hacker, it seems, regarded polytechnics as part of academic life Ed.] There are a few intellectuals in both walks of life, of course, but politicians never dare own up to it and academics prefer gossip anyway.
Professor Rosenblum is a small wiry elderly man. He is in his mid-seventies, lean, bright-eyed, and with a mind like a steel trap. I felt like an undergraduate at a tutorial. But I certainly learned a thing or two, and I believe that tonights discussion will have a decisive effect on the future of my government and of this country. There will be changes made. [Hacker was so excited when dictating this entry into his diary that he completely forgot about the Civil Service Ed.]