“Target confirmed,” one of the speakers announced with unearthly calm. “It’s Washington!”

  The speaker to the left of the screen broke into life. “This is Conelrad,” it said. “This is not a test, repeat—this is not a test!” The voice faded as another station took over. “A transpolar missile is headed south along the eastern seaboard. Target Washington. Plan One. Evacuation time thirty seconds–”

  Thirty seconds! French’s mind recoiled. Washington was dead! You couldn’t go anywhere in thirty seconds! His hand moved toward the red button. This was it!

  The missile on the screen was brighter now. It flamed like a miniature sun, and the sound of its passage was that of a million souls in torment! “It can’t stand much more of that,” French breathed. “It’ll burn up!”

  “New York Sector—bogey at twelve o’clock—high! God! Look at it!”

  The glare of the thing filled the screen.

  The blue phone rang. “Center,” French said. He waited and then laid the phone down. The line was dead.

  “Flash!” Conelrad said. “The enemy missile has struck south of New York. A tremendous flash was seen fifteen seconds ago by observers in civilian defense spotting nets… No sound of the explosion as yet… More information—triangulation of the explosion indicates that it has struck the nation’s capitol! Our center of government has been destroyed!” There was a short silence broken by a faint voice: “Oh my God!—all those poor people!”

  The red phone rang. French picked it up. “Center,” he said.

  The phone squawked at him.

  “Your authority?” French queried dully. He paused and his face turned an angry red. “Just who do you think you are colonel? I’ll take orders from the Chief—but no one else! Now get off that line! … Oh, I see. Then it’s my responsibility? … All right I accept it—now leave me alone!” He put the phone gently back on the cradle. A fine beading of sweat dotted his forehead. This was the situation he had never let himself think would occur. The President was dead. The Joint Chiefs were dead. He was on his own until some sort of government could be formed.

  Should he wait and let Ivan exploit his advantage, or should he strike? Oddly he wondered what his alter ego in Russia was doing at this moment. Was he proud of having struck this blow—or was he frightened. French smiled grimly. If he were in Ivan’s shoes, he’d be scared to death! He shivered. For the first time in years he felt the full weight of the responsibility that was his.

  The red phone rang again.

  “Center—French here… Who’s that? … Oh yes, sir, Mr. Vice… er Mr. President! … Yes sir, it’s a terrible thing… What have I done? Well, nothing yet, sir. A single bogey like that doesn’t feel right. I’m waiting for the follow up that’ll confirm… Yes sir I know—but do you want to take the responsibility for destroying the world? What if it wasn’t Ivan’s? Have you thought of that? … Yes, sir, it’s my judgment that we wait… No sir, I don’t think so, if Ivan’s back of this we’ll have more coming, and if we do I’ll fire… No sir, I will not take that responsibility… Yes, I know Washington’s destroyed, but we still have no proof of Ivan’s guilt. Long-range radar has not reported any activity in Russia… Sorry, sir, I can’t see it that way—and you can’t relieve me until 1600 hours… Yes, sir, I realize what I’m doing… Very well, sir, if that’s the way you want it I’ll resign at 1600 hours. Good-bye.” French dropped the phone into its cradle and wiped his forehead. He had just thrown his career out of the window, but that was another thing that couldn’t be helped. The President was hysterical now. Maybe he’d calm down later.

  “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 radiac 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 fail-out 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 per cent 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.”

  French sighed and hung up. Sense was beginning to percolate through the shock. People were beginning to think again. He sighed. This should teach a needed lesson. He made a mental note of it. If he had anything to say about the make-up of Center from now on—there’d be an astronomer on the staff, and a few more of them scattered out on the Dew Line and the outpost groups. It was virtually certain now that the Capitol was struck by a meteorite. There was no radioactivity. It had been an act of God—or at least not an act of war. The destruction was terrible, but it could have been worse if either he or his alter ego in Russia had lost control and pushed the buttons. He thought idly that he’d like to meet the Ivan who ran their Center.

  “The proposals of the Soviet government,” the radio interrupted, “have been accepted by the UN. An inspection team is en route to Russia, and others will follow as quickly as possible. Meanwhile the UN has requested a cease-fire assurance from the United States, warning that the start of a nuclear war would be the end of everything.” The announcer’s voice held a note of grim humor. “So far, there has been no word from Washington concerning these proposals.”

  French chuckled. It might not be in the best taste, and it might be graveyard humor—but it was a healthy sign.

  An Old Bankruptcy, a New Currency, by Jerry Pournelle and Dean Ing

  Editor’s Introduction

  This essay originally appeared as part of Mutually Assured Survival, a book I wrote with Dean Ing in 1983. Although Possony and I devised the strategy of “Assured Survival,” Ben Bova was first to use that phrase as the title of a book; hence our title. The book was based on the Executive Summary Report of the Citizens Advisory Council on National Space Policy. Our conclusions were:

  The President’s proposal to change the defensive posture of the United States from Mutual Assured Destruction to Assured Survival is morally correct, technologically feasible, and economically desirable.

  Significant improvements to national security can be made before the end of the decade.

  Defense of the nation will require direct Presidential action and support.

  How far have we come to reaching these goals in the past five years?

  Unfortunately, not very far; certainly nowhere near as far as we need to go. There have been some results: SDI has brought the Soviets scurrying to the negotiating tables and there have been a number of promising technological spin-offs, advances in computer miniaturization, food irradiation, power storage, and fired-reinforced ceramics. We know a lot more about beams and particle physics; and we know about six ways we can intercept ICBMs headed for the U.S.A.

  Yet, with the Congress paring expenditures every year, the program remains tentative, and research only. We have deployed nothing; we are no closer to being able to shoot down even a single missile headed for the U.S. than we were in 1980.

  There have been obstacles from every side of the moral and political spectrum, from the National Conference of Catholic Bishops, who have decried SDI as morally questionable, to the Soviet scientists who have warned that SDI experiments could litter space with so much junk that it could block the sun and bring forth “Space Winter.”

  The Pentagon bureaucrats fear that SDI might bring about a rearranging of defense expenditures, and priorities. Congress alternately views SDI as either a giant pork barrel or a tar baby. President Reagan, his administration under attack by the media and Congress, has not been able to give the program the leadership it has needed.

  Alas, despite overwhelming public support and new technological advances demonstrating the feasibility of Strategic Defense, we have yet to deploy anything real. There is a movement to put in a limited system called ALS: Accidental Launch System which would stop a limited attack. That’s better than nothing, which is what we have now.

  An Old Bankruptcy, a New Currency

  Jerry Pournelle and Dean Ing

  The so-called “missile gap” was a decisive factor in the election of 1960. Now we know that it was illusory; the Soviet Union not only did not have a lead in strategic missiles, but in fact had no real missile capability whatever. After the Cuban missile crisis of 1962 was resolved in U.S. favor largely because of U.S. strategic missile superiority, the Soviets determined never again to allow that to happen. From the early 1960s on they concentrated on developing a commanding lead in intercontinental strategic nuclear power.

  By 1970 they had installed four different ICBM assembly lines, and by 1972 these were running three shifts, twenty-four hours a day. Today, in 1984, they continue to operate full time.

  By 1978 (and possibly before) the Soviets had achieved strategic superiority, at least in numbers of missiles and deliverable warheads. Superiority is a problematical thing in the nuclear era. There is no point in having an overwhelming capability for destruction if your own nation will also be destroyed. Translating strategic superiority into international political advantage is no simple matter—until you achieve overwhelming superiority, enough to destroy the opponent’s ability to strike back.

  For a number of years strategists considered a “clean win” to be impossible. Hawks and doves could agree: the best way, the only way, to survive a nuclear war is not to have one.

  This is still true, but the situation is changing. As technology develops there could come a time when one side can destroy the other’s strategic nuclear forces so thoroughly that no retaliation would be possible. If the Soviet Union ever achieves such superiority, their past actions indicate they will try to translate that capability into strategic power. That will not be a stable world.

  The debate over national strategic doctrine has profound implications for the future of the human race. George Orwell said, “If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face—forever.” If we are to avoid that fate; if we are to preserve freedom and Western Civilization in an era in which the Soviet Union has strategic superiority, we must use every possible advantage. This includes properly exploiting our technologies, and developing superior strategies.

  This is difficult but not impossible. The United States holds numerous advantages. We must develop strategies to take advantage of them.

  The Origin of MAD

  During the Eisenhower Administration, the official doctrine of the United States was “massive retaliation.” President Eisenhower defined this as a determination to meet any attack on the U.S. or our allies “with massive retaliation at a time and place of our own choosing.” At that time we had the strategic power to make good such a threat.

  Shortly after taking office in 1961, Secretary of Defense Robert S. McNamara attended a briefing by the Commander-in-Chief of the Strategic Air Command (SAC). The general showed the Secretary the SIOP—the Single Integrated Operational Plan which would control U.S. strategic weapons in the event of all-out war with the Soviet Union. The SIOP consisted of a target list based on the best intelligence information available to SAC, and a schedule for the elimination of those targets. Every weapon in the U.S. inventory was allocated, and all would be launched within 36 hours.

  When the briefing was completed, McNamara expressed horror. “General,” he said, “you don’t have a war plan. All you have is a kind of horrible spasm.”

  McNamara was determined to reform the U.S. strategic doctrines, and to give the President a series of options. The new policy was to be called “Flexible Response.” Soon, however, McNamara found that “flexible response” would require great skill, sophisticated new weapons, and a lot of money which would have to be extracted from Johnson’s “Great Society.” While the Congress might then have been willing to pay the price, Johnson and McNamara were not. In part on the advice of a new school of “civilian strategists” trained mostly in Eastern university schools of social science, McNamara opted for a new doctrine.