Eugene Burdick - Fail-Safe

“General Bogan, Strategic Air Command, Omaha, here,” General Bogan said.

There was a slight static, then a voice spoke in flawless English.

“I am the translator for Marshal Nevsky, Soviet Air Defense Command,” the voice said. “Marshal Nevsky sends his greetings. He tells you that reception here on our end is five by five. How do you read us?”

“We read you five by five,” General Bogan said. “I have no instructions on what we are to discuss. Have you received instructions, Marshal Nevsky?”

The translator spoke Russian very rapidly. An even, strong voice replied.

“We have received no instructions, General,” the translator said. “Only that we should set up communications with your headquarters.”

Then there was silence. Colonel Casdo moved his eyes from General Bogan’s face to the touch phone. He seemed mesmerized, fascinated, by something enormously seductive, but also revolting. The red phone rang.

“General Bogan, this is the President and I should like you to put this call on your intercom so that everyone in the room can hear what I say,” the President said. “I should also like you to open your, touch phone to the Soviet Air Command so that they also can hear me.”

“One moment, Mr. President,” General Bogan said. He turned to Colonel Cascio and gave instructions. The arrangements took only ten seconds.

“Mr. President, when you speak your voice will be beard by everyone,” General Bogan said.

“Gentlemen, this is the President,” the President began and his strong young voice rang through the room, drowning out the endless hum of the machines. The men had, quite unconsciously, all come to attention, their thumbs neatly lined alongside the seams of their trousers, their eyes staring straight ahead. “What I am saying can be heard by the Soviet Air Command, Premier Khrushchev’s personal staff in the Kremlin, our Chiefs of Staff in the Pentagon, our SAC group in Omaha, our Ambassador to the Soviet Union, and the Soviet delegate to the United Nations. Whatever orders I give to American military or civilian personnel are to be considered as direct personal orders from the Commander in Chief. They are to be obeyed fully, without reservation and instantly.”

The President paused. General Bogan looked around the room. He had a sense of unreality, a kind of smoky twisting in his mind, a surrealistic sense of things dissolving. The whole thing was dreamlike, but it was iron hard and inescapable. There was no possibility of awakening to something else.

“We are caught in a desperate situation,” the President said slowly and emphatically. Over the touch phone General Bogan could hear small hushed Russian voices translating. “By some sort of error, probably mechanical, a group of American bombers has penetrated Soviet air space. It is our best estimate that they will try to press home an attack on Moscow. Each of the bombers is equipped with two 20-megaton bombs. Though all of the planes are under heavy attack from Soviet defenses, in all probability at least two of these bombers will get through. This is a tragic mistake. It is not, I repeat, not, our intention to engage the Soviet Union in warfare. Premier Khrushchev is, at this moment, en route to a headquarters located outside of Moscow. When he again contacts me I will do everything in my power to persuade him of our sincerity.”

Again the President paused. When he resumed speaking his voice was so slow that each word seemed to dangle.

“Those of us on this hookup are the only people who can save the world from an atomic holocaust,” he said. “We must all do everything possible to prevent our planes from attacking Moscow. At the same time, we must make it absolutely clear to the Russians that this is an accident and in no way part of or prelude to an American attack. Already I have done everything I can by myself to achieve these two goals. Recall of our planes has proved impossible, but it has been constantly attempted. All other American offensive and defensive forces have been withdrawn from Condition Red. This the Russians were able to verify on their monitoring systems. The Russians now concede that their Air Defense Command may not be able to intercept our Group 6. They have a momentous decision to make: should they order a retaliatory attack against the United States? Premier Khrushchev tells me that some of his military leaders favor such an attack.” The voice paused or faltered and then came on again. “This is understandable.”

Colonel Cascio listened, immediately understood, and was filled with a terrible confusion. He knew that in the position of these outraged Russian officers he Would feel the same way. Cascio glanced around the room. Everyone was immobilized by the strangeness of the situation.

The President’s voice continued “Premier Khrushchev has behaved as I believe I would under similar conditions. He has delayed retaliation. And I think he believes that this is an accident. But we must convince him, and his chief advisers, that it is. I order every American to cooperate fully with Soviet officers in whatever attempts they make to shoot down our invading bombers. This is a firm and unalterable command. You are to give whatever information the Soviet officers may request of you. Let me emphasize that any hesitation, any withholding of information, may have the most tragic consequences. Are there any questions?”

The President paused. There were no questions.

“Gentlemen, I wish you success,” the President said. “This is a difficult situation for all of us. I expect you to conduct yourselves as patriots and to carry out my orders without hesitation.”

The President’s line clicked dead.

General Bogan turned to look at Colonel Cascio. Cascio’s eyes were green and they had a hard glow in the dim light.

Suddenly a voice came up on the “touch” phone. It was the voice of the Russian translator in the Soviet Union.

“Does the Bloodhound have both infrared and radar homing capabilities?” he asked. “A number of our fighter planes have been destroyed by a missile which seems to home not on the infrared source, but the radar transmitter. Is that possible?”

“Colonel Cascio will answer your question, sir,” Gem. eral Bogan said. He nodded at Cascio.

Colonel Cascio looked at General Bogan. Even in the dim light General Bogan could tell that the blood had drained from Cascio’s face. His eyes rolled slightly in his head. Then his throat began to work as if the muscles were out of control, seized by a convulsion. It was the throat of a man sobbing, but no sound came from Colonel Cascio’s lips. He shook his head. His hand reached for the button below the “touch” phone and then, his finger only an inch from the button, he Went rigid. His entire body seemed frozen, gripped by a spasm of immobility. He did not tremble, he did not ipeak, he simply arched into a posture that ached with tension.

General Bogan felt nausea rise in his stomach. He was not an emotional man, he knew he lacked intuition. But he understood perfectly the awful thing he was watching. For years Colonel Cascio had been trained to guard information, to be secretive, to be Suspicious of the Soviets. For half his life he had carried in his mind facts that bore the words TOP SECRET, and, with a tireless and unending diligence, he had locked them into a private part of his brain. And now he was asked to reverse all these reflexes, to shatter the training of a lifetime. But he had also been trained to obey orders, only orders which came from legitimate superiors. All of this was too much and Colonel Cascio was locked in a dilemma so cruel and sharp that he could not move.

General Bogan reached out and touched Colonel Cascio’s arm. It was like touching marble. With his Other hand General Bogan punched the “touch” button.