Eugene Burdick - Fail-Safe

Khrushchev yielded, but without giving much. “It is a little thing,” he said. “I agree to using your translator.”

“Premier Khrushchev, I am calling you on what may turn out to be a small matter,” the President said. “But it is the first time it has happened and it could be tragic if it is misunderstood.”

“Does it have to do with the aircraft we have detected flying toward Russia from - the Bering Sea?” Khrushchev asked bluntly.

The President’s eyes widened a bit. He recovered and then incredibly, he winked at Buck.

“Yes, Premier, that is why I am calling,” the President said. “I am sure that your radar and tracking devices are as competent as ours and that they detected a somewhat unusual pattern.”

“They reported it to me fifteen minutes ago,” Khrushchev said. His voice was flat. It revealed nothing. Buck felt a game of word-poker was being played through him. Khrushchev continued speaking levelly. “We have not yet made a positive identification. I presume you are calling to inform me that it is another of those allegedly off-course reconnaissance flights. Mr. President, I have warned you in speeches, in diplomatic notes, through military channels, that your constant flying of armed planes around the periphery of the Soviet Union was a menace to peace. The scandalous U-2 incident was only the most dramatic example of your constant provocation. Have you ever wondered how long the patience of-”

“This is a mistake and it is a serious mistake,” the President cut in coldly. Be nodded for Buck to translate, Buck talked over the voice of Khrushchev, his voice somewhat shaky. Khrushchev came to a halt. Buck repeated what the President had said.

Khrushchev grunted. “All right, tell me,” he said, in a tough peasantlike voice. “Tell me the secret.”

“It is not a secret,” the President said. “A group of bombers has flown past its Fail-Safe point. I assume that you understand our Fail-Safe system?”

“Yes, I understand what you call your Fail-Safe system,” Khrushchev said. “You have talked enough about it in the papers. Has it turned out not always fail-safe?” What sounded like a laugh came through the phone.

The President turned white at the corners of his mouth. Then he also laughed.

“That is correct,” he said. Buck sensed that the laugh came hard, but was somehow necessary. “A group of our bombers with a speed of over 1,500 miles per hour and each loaded with two 20-megaton bombs is flying toward Russia.”

Khrushchev, spoke in a musing, tolerant, shrewd voice, the voice which an older man uses when rebuking a boy.

“We shall watch with great interest while you recall them. Only two weeks ago in a speech you gave to the young soldiers of your Air Academy in Colorado you said that the Air Force could never be a threat to peace, only a deterrent to war,” Khrushchev said softly. “I hope this little incident will change your mind.”

The President moved a pencil in his fingers, drew a hard circle on the yellow pad in front of him.

“Premier Khrushchev, this is not the time for moral-lung. It is much more serious than you think. So far we have been unable to recall them,” the President said, and his voice also was soft and tolerant. “Accidents can occur anywhere and be made by anyone. If the captain of your submarine the Kalinin were alive he could tell you that.”

The President was referring to a secret incident in which a Soviet submarine had ventured inside the three-mile limit off San Francisco eight months previously and had immediately been tracked and sunk by U.S. Navy destroyers and helicopters. Neither Russia nor the United States had ever mentioned the incident in public. -

The silence which spread through the vacant seconds was ominous; when Khrushchev spoke his words came slowly, each one edged with bitterness. “Are the planes from the Bering Sea being flown by madmen?”

“We are not sure, Premier Khrushchev,” the President said. “It may have been a mechanical failure. Your radio-jamming devices may have made it impossible for us to establish contact with the planes. Right now they are, apparently, flying on orders which are normally received by mechanical transmissions. But we are not sure. All I can tell you is that it is an accident. This is not an attempt to provoke war, it is not a part of a general attack.”

“And how is an ignorant Russian like me supposed to know that?” Khrushchev asked. His voice was harsh, but still somehow condescending, rebuking. “How do I know that you do not have hundreds of planes coming in so low that our radar cannot pick them up? How do I know—”

Again the President nodded at Buck and interrupted Khrushchev.

“Because, Premier Khrushchev, you have detection devices that give you almost the same information that I have,” the President said. “Also if you will give me the time to explain I hope to prove to you that we regard it as a serious accident, take responsibility for it, and are trying to correct it.”

The President stopped. The silence drew out, went past what was a polite break in conversation, became a test of will. Buck shifted in his chair. Again he had the sensation of being caught, buglike and about to be squashed, between two powerful forces. It was physically unpleasant.

“Go on, Mr. President,” Khrushchev said.

“As your people have told you, there is a flight of high-speed fighters which accompany each group of our bombers as they fly toward the Fail-Safe point,” the President said. “Your detection apparatus will soon tell you that those fighter planes have been flying at full speed, using afterburners, to try’ and overtake

- and shoot down our bombers. They are doing that at my direct order. Three of them have already run out of fuel and have, presumably, gone into the sea.”

There was a short silence, but it possessed a new quality. When Khrushchev spoke Buck could tell he was startled.

“You mean you are ordering American fighter planes to shoot down American bombers?”

“That is precisely what I mean,” the President said. “I have already given that order. If you have access to a plotting board you should have been able to see the fighters reverse their course and try to overtake the bombers.”

“Mr. President, I am sitting in front of a plotting board,” Khrushchev said. “My experts have already detected the change in number of your fighters.” He paused. “We wete not sure that they really launched air-to-air missiles at your bombers. We are still not sure that they have run out of fuel. Perhaps they are diving at a low altitude to escape our radar and are flying back to their bases-or into Russia.”

“Then sir, your radar apparatus is defective,” the President said. “We dearly saw three of the planes shoot their rockets and then fall into the ocean. At 20,000 feet the pilots were automatically ejected and their capsules were clearly visible on our radar.”

Khrushchev grunted softly. “They were clear on our radar also, Mr. President,” he said. “I really did not doubt that they were making an effort. I wanted only to hear your explanation. I also wanted to know if they had made the pursuit at your specific order.” He paused and when he spoke his voice was oddly neutral. “It is a hard thing to order men to certain death, is it not?”

“It is,” the President said simply.

Again there was the sound of background conversation on the Moscow end of the conference line. Buck could pick up only a few of the words. He quickly wrote a sentence on a pad and turned it to the President. It said, “Someone is trying to persuade him that it is a trick, arguing for ‘strike-back in full power’ or something close to that.”

Suddenly Khrushchev’s voice came distinctly over the line. “Nyet,” he said savagely. “I will make my own decisions.”