“Flash!” the radio said. “Radio Moscow denies that the missile which destroyed Washington was one of theirs. They insist that it is a capitalist trick to make them responsible for World War III. The Premier accuses the United States… hey! wait a minute!… accuses the United States of trying to foment war, but to show the good faith of the Soviet Union, he will open the country to UN inspection to prove once and for all that the Soviet does not and has not intended nuclear aggression. He proposes that a UN team investigate the wreckage of Washington to determine whether the destruction was actually caused by a missile. Hah! Just what in hell does he think caused it?”
French grinned thinly. Words like the last were seldom heard on the lips of commentators. The folks outside were pretty wrought up. There was hysteria in almost every word that had come into the office. But it hadn’t moved him yet. His finger was still off the trigger. He picked up the white phone. “Get me DEW Line Headquarters,” he said. “Hello, DEW Line, this is French at Center. Any more bogeys?… No?… That’s good… No, we’re still holding off… Why?… Any fool would know why if he stopped to think!” He slammed the phone back into its cradle. Damn fools howling for war! Just who did they think would win it? Sure, it would be easy to start things rolling. All he had to do was push the button. He stared at it with fascinated eyes. Nearly three billion lives lay on that polished plastic surface, and he could snuff most of them out with one jab of a finger.
“Sir!” a voice broke from the speaker. “What’s the word— are we in it yet?”
“Not yet, Jimmy.”
“Thank God!” the voice sounded relieved. “Just hang on, sir. We know they’re pressuring you, but they’ll stop screaming for blood once they have time to think.”
“I hope so,” French said. He chuckled without humor. The personnel at Center knew what nuclear war would be like. Most of them had experience at Frenchman’s Flat. They didn’t want any part of it, if it could be avoided. And neither did he.
The hours dragged by. The phones rang, and Conelrad kept reporting—giving advice and directions for evacuation of the cities. All the nation was stalled in the hugest traffic jam in history. Some of it couldn’t help seeping in, even through the censorship. There was danger in too much of anything, and obviously the country was overmechanized. By now, French was certain that Russia was innocent. If she wasn’t, Ivan would have struck in force by now. He wondered how his opposite number in Russia was taking it. Was the man crouched over his control board, waiting for the cloud of capitalist missiles to appear over the horizon? Or was he, too, fingering a red button, debating whether or not to strike before it was too late?
“Flash!” the radio said. “Radio Moscow offers immediate entry to any UN inspection team authorized by the General Assembly. The presidium has met and announces that under no circumstances will Russia take any aggressive action. They repeat that the missile was not theirs, and suggest that it might have originated from some other nation desirous of fomenting war between the Great Powers… ah, nuts!”
“That’s about as close to surrender as they dare come,” French murmured softly. “They’re scared green—but then, who wouldn’t be?” He looked at the local clock. It read 1410. Less than two hours to go before the time lock opened and unimaginative Jim Craig came through that door to take his place. If the President called with Craig in the seat, the executive orders would be obeyed. He picked up the white phone.
“Get me the Commanding General of the Second Army,” he said. He waited a moment. “Hello, George, this is Al at Center. How you doing? Bad, huh? No, we’re holding off… Now hold it, George. That’s not what I called for. I don’t need moral support. I want information. Have your radio crews checked the Washington area yet?… They haven’t. Why not? Get them on the ball! Ivan keeps insisting that that bogey wasn’t his and the facts seem to indicate he’s telling the truth for once, but we’re going to blast if he can’t prove it! I want the dope on radioactivity in that area and I want it now!… If you don’t want to issue an order—call for volunteers… So they might get a lethal dose— so what?… Offer them a medal. There’s always someone who’d walk into hell for the chance of getting a medal. Now get cracking!… Yes, that’s an order.”
The radio came on again. “First reports of the damage in Washington,” it chattered. “A shielded Air Force reconnaissance plane has flown over the blast area, taking pictures and making an aerial survey of fallout intensity. The Capitol is a shambles. Ground Zero was approximately in the center of Pennsylvania Avenue. There is a tremendous crater over a half-mile wide, and around that for nearly two miles there is literally nothing! The Capitol is gone. Over ninety-eight percent of the city is destroyed. Huge fires are raging in Alexandria and the outskirts. The Potomac bridges are down. The destruction is inconceivable. The landmarks of our—”
French grabbed the white phone. “Find out who the Air Force commander was who sent up that recon plane over Washington!” he barked. “I don’t know who he is—but get him now!” He waited for three minutes. “So it was you, Willoughby! I thought it might be. This is French at Center. What did that recon find?… It did, hey?… Well now, isn’t that simply wonderful! You stupid publicity-crazy fool! What do you mean by withholding vital information! Do you realize that I’ve been sitting here with my finger on the button ready to kill half the earth’s population, while you’ve been flirting around with reporters?… Dammit! That’s no excuse! You should be cashiered— and if I have any influence around here tomorrow, I’ll see that you are. As it is, you’re relieved as of now!… What do you mean, I can’t do that?… Read your regulations again, and then get out of that office and place yourself under arrest in quarters! Turn over your command to your executive officer! You utter, driveling fool!… Aaagh!!” French snarled as he slammed the phone back.
It began ringing again immediately. “French here… Yes, George… You have?… You did?… It isn’t?… I thought so. We’ve been barking up the wrong tree this time. It was an act of God!… Yes, I said an act of God! Remember that crater out in Arizona? Well, this is the same thing—a meteor!… Yes, Ivan’s still quiet. Not a peep out of him. The DEW Line reports no activity.”
The blue phone began to ring. French looked at it. “O.K., George—apology accepted. I know how you feel.” He hung up and lifted the blue phone. “Yes, Mr. President,” he said. “Yes, sir. You’ve heard the news, I suppose… You’ve had confirmation from Lick Observatory?… Yes, sir, I’ll stay here if you wish… No, sir, I’m perfectly willing to act. It was just that this never did look right—and thank God that you understand astronomy, sir… Of course I’ll stay until the emergency is over, but you’ll have to tell General Craig… Who’s Craig? Why, he’s my relief, sir.” French looked at the clock. “He comes on in twenty minutes… Well, thank you, sir. I never thought that I’d get a commendation for not obeying orders.”