Джон Болл - The First Team

When the time at last came near, in every home, apartment, and place of business the TV sets were on and glowing, the radios were set to hear what would be said. Regular TV programming was suspended, only test patterns appeared on the screens with, in many cases, the faces of a clock cut in at one comer. The tension mounted, minute by minute, as people stopped talking and waited. What Fitzhugh had said had been told and retold until it was already threadbare; what the enemy would say became all paramount, and nothing else, no matter what it might be, appeared to matter.

At precisely the time that had been set, the face of the enemy came on the screen of the TV sets. It was a specific face that few Americans had ever seen before. They did not know who he was, but they understood that he was a spokesman, nothing less and nothing more. His English was stilted and forced, but painfully accurate and precise. He enunciated clearly and not a word that he spoke could be misunderstood in any way.

“It is not necessary that much time be consumed by this matter,” he said. “I speak on behalf of the greatest military power that the world has ever seen, a military power which is intact and of which the people of the United States have seen and experienced only the smallest fraction. It is a power which could utterly destroy, to the last tiny hamlet, this entire former nation in a matter of minutes. In such an attack no one would survive, no single structure would be left standing. The area that was once the United States would become a barren, radioactive, desert wasteland — and it would remain so as a lesson to the rest of the world until such time as we chose to make use of it.

“Yesterday a misguided, senile, totally incompetent former member of the humiliated American government dared to make a statement at the command of his masters. He will be dealt with. He dared also to lay down certain conditions to which we were supposed to yield. Those conditions will be met, but not as this utter fool proposed to us.

“He told you about a submarine which was supposed to be in the hands of a nonexistent navy. If you believed him, do not do so any longer. I told you of the power of our military forces; for us it was a simple exercise to find this submarine long before she reached even close to the range of our homeland. She was sunk many days ago and the bodies of some of those who attempted to take her to sea have been recovered and examined. Their names will be published.

“You have no submarine at sea, you have nothing but memories of an imperialistic, fascist, decadent government which was destroyed by the vengeful people from without and within. From now on the people will rule and we are the people.

“Hear this now carefully; there does exist an underground which, over a period of several months, has managed through desperation to kill a half dozen of our people. They, the people who comprise this conspiracy, will now surrender. They will do so at once. If they have not done so by this exact time tomorrow, and have not handed over the place where they are living, we will shoot one thousand hostages who have already been chosen. We will begin to collect them very shortly. For each day that the surrender is delayed, an additional one thousand will be shot. Their bodies will be left to rot and it will be forbidden to touch them until they decay.”

Suddenly the speaker’s face flamed into a fanatical intensity. “When ten thousand have died this way, if the total surrender of the imperialistic underground is not complete to the last man, we shall resume our nuclear testing and your cities will serve as our practice areas. This now lies ten days away. We will listen to no rebuttal, no counterproposals; we will speak no more of this matter until the surrender has been completed. If it is not completed by tomorrow night the first thousand hostages will die. You will now submit, totally and absolutely, to our will, or you will not survive. That is all.”

Admiral Barney Haymarket listened, his chin resting in the palm of his hand. When it was over he turned to the assembled men around the table and asked, “Any comments?”

After a few seconds Walter Wagner responded. “I see two possibilities. One: get to their top people and hit them individually with everything we’ve got. That’s the long shot — it might work but I have serious doubts. The other is obvious.”

“Carl?” the admiral asked.

General Gifford was still thinking. “It was about what I expected. I can contribute one thing: they aren’t bluffing. They couldn’t be because they have set too close a deadline, they’d have to call their own hand in less than twenty-four hours from now. If we pull a desperation operation and release their hostages, they will simply seize more and shoot them at random.”

The admiral was in deep thought. “No one man has the authority to fire a nuclear weapon from a silo, an FBM, or any other place other than the President,” he said. “I want to tell you all this now: I have been talking to the President based on what I expected to hear and he has authorized me to order Magsaysay to fire when and as I see fit. I’m not ducking responsibility — I’ve never done that in my life — but I believe any such order, if it is given, should come from us all.”

Ed Higbee answered that. “Barney, you know that all of us will back you up in anything you think necessary. You’ve got the military experience to weigh the factors involved, and that’s what we need here because this is a military crisis.”

“Tell me this,” Haymarket said. “If I do order Magsaysay to fire one missile, targeted as we have previously approved, do you think that it will influence the Actor to overrule Rostovitch? What will the public reaction be?”

Higbee thought. “J^et’s say that ten nuclear warheads hit on the other side, or assume that they shoot down four and the other six get through.”

“Six, then.”

“It will answer all claims that Magsaysay has been sunk. It will put us back into the poker game.”

“You’re forgetting something: the enemy knows perfectly well whether or not we have a ship at sea. We don’t know, but they do.”

The discussion stopped for a moment and there was a full five seconds of silence. It was broken by the unhurried voice of Major Pappas. “Gentlemen, we have an offer. I have been talking with Hewlitt, the White House interpreter whom we brought in here. He forecast quite accurately what we have just heard.”

“That wasn’t too hard,” General Gifford said, “but what did he offer?”

“That if something of this nature was proposed, and we can get him back to Washington in time, he will talk to Zalinsky in the hospital.”

Again there was a brief silence. Then Walter Wagner spoke. “That makes him a pretty gutsy guy. We could get him back all right, and get him into the hospital, but the guarantee stops there.” “Do you think he meant it, Ted?” the admiral asked.

“Yes, sir, I do, or I wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“Let’s get him in here.”

“Now?”

“Right now. I’d like to see how he conducts himself.”

Major Pappas got up and left the room. When he came back very shortly with Hewlitt, he made minimum introductions. “Mr. Hewlitt, this is the group that is generally known as the First Team. Admiral Haymarket is the commander.”

Hewlitt looked at the well-known face and addressed himself to him. “I’m very happy to see, sir, that the reports of your death were grossly exaggerated.”

“Thank you. Mr. Hewlitt, Major Pappas has just told us that prior to the broadcast you offered to return to Washington to talk with Mr. Zalinsky. You heard the speech?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Does your offer still stand?”