Torpedo! (The Silent War Book 3) Page 20

  “What advantage could they get?” Brezhnev asked.

  “Possibly a withdrawal from the state of detente,” Shevenko answered. “I think that would satisfy them. If the President took a hard line the American military would be in a position to demand more spending for weapons.”

  Brezhnev rocked forward in his chair. “If I do as you say they want me to do it would solve nothing. The faction within the Politburo that wants to smash North America and Mainland China now, at once, would still be there. The American admirals who have created this impasse would still be there. There is no political gain for either side.” He stopped and lit another cigarette.

  “I inherited a dissident Politburo from Nikita. You know that as well as I do. The feeling was, still is, that Khrushchev went too far toward the West, that he undermined our struggle for world leadership.” He drew on his cigarette and sent a plume of smoke toward the ceiling.

  “I saved Nikita from liquidation, did you know that?”

  “Yes, sir. I knew that.”

  “Now I must save the Soviet Union from nuclear attack.”

  “You are the First Secretary, sir,” Shevenko said.

  “Who is at the mercy of the Politburo if it turns against me,” Brezhnev snapped. “Admiral Zurahv, General Mishikoff, are both advocating an immediate nuclear strike against the United States and Mainland China. They have called for an emergency meeting of the Politburo at four tomorrow afternoon. Comrade Plotovsky has told me that he has asked you to be there as a witness for his side.”

  “Yes, sir, he has asked me to do that.”

  “What do you hope to gain?”

  “With all due respect, sir, at best a majority vote to discontinue the weapons testing program. At worst, a defeat by no more than one vote with the hope, my and Comrade Plotovsky’s hope, sir, that you will cast a vote on Comrade Plotovsky’s side and create a tie and table the matter.”

  “That’s Plotovsky’s thinking,” Brezhnev said. “He’s a rare bird, that old man. A street fighter who turned into a politician and forgot nothing of his street fighting tricks.” He stubbed out his cigarette in a glass ashtray and reached for the cigarette package.

  “And if Plotovsky’s side, your side, wins how do we go about cleaning up this mess? Have you thought about that? I am not going to apologize, Igor!”

  “There is a way,” Shevenko said slowly. “I could reach the head of the CIA through Israel, let him know the crisis is over. He could go to the President, tell him what happened and assure him that everything is normal. If it can be done that way the American admirals who are playing president would be forced out of the Navy.”

  “They’ve lost one of their submarines,” Brezhnev said.

  “The loss has not been announced, sir. It could be laid to unknown causes. The history of the sea is full of such incidents, sir. Just as we would, in due time, announce the loss of our submarine to the same cause.”

  “It always comes down to politics,” Brezhnev said. “And politics are the same all over the world. Only the penalty for failure differs.” He leaned back in the big chair, the eyes under the bristling eyebrows steady on Shevenko.

  “I knew your father, as you know, Igor. We were great friends. His death in the great patriotic war was a blow to me, almost as much a blow as it was to you and your family. For his sake I hope you are well prepared for the meeting.”

  “My father used to talk a lot about you, sir,” Shevenko said. “He said you were a man who never forgot a friend. I will do my best.”

  “That’s a nice thing to have said about yourself,” Brezhnev said. He got out of his chair and walked around the desk and put his heavy hand on Shevenko’s shoulder.

  “I’m afraid that in those days friendship was based on trust. Those were the days when we were fighting a common enemy and there was no room for politics.”

  Admiral Zurahv paced the floor of his office. His chief naval aide, Captain Bogomolets, watched him from a chair as he sipped at a mug of hot tea.

  “The old man, Plotovsky, saw the First Secretary this morning, early. Then Brezhnev called for the two generals, Mishikoff and Koslin.”

  “Understandable,” the Captain said. “Brezhnev is a cautious man, a politician. He would listen to one side and then the other. The full Politburo will be at the meeting. If we don’t win, if we get a tie vote, then it is up to Brezhnev to break the tie with his vote.”

  “If he chooses to vote. He didn’t, the other time.”

  “He can’t ride that horse a second time,” Captain Bogomolets said patiently. “We’ve talked about that earlier. He will have to vote. The fact that he called in Plotovsky and then the GRU is an indication that he may believe that the vote will be a tie.”

  The Admiral stopped pacing and faced his aide. “Mishikoff reported to me that when he and Koslin left the First Secretary’s office Igor Shevenko was sitting in the anteroom. I don’t like the sound of that, my friend.”

  “The foolishness with that boy,” Captain Bogomolets said softly. “Shevenko’s aide. A pity.”

  “Shevenko had him murdered!” Admiral Zurahv snapped. “And don’t call it foolishness, you had the same appetites years ago.”

  “Admitted,” the naval Captain said.

  “So what do you think Shevenko told Brezhnev, that I was a sodomist and therefore couldn’t be trusted?”

  “The conversation between them, as I am told by Brezhnev’s aide, did not cover that subject, my friend. In fact, Brezhnev did not give Shevenko any encouragement in his role as a witness tomorrow. Rather, he warned him to do well.”

  “How reliable is that damned aide?” Zurahv growled.

  “Reliable enough,” Captain Bogomolets said. “What we have to do now is to figure some way to impress on the opposition that it is imperative that we move in our direction and at once.

  Admiral Zurahv lowered his massive hams onto the edge of his desk and rubbed his belly. “Yes. Here’s how we will do it. We will watch closely during the meeting. If we see signs of doubt in those we think we are sure of, there’s at least one who could play the role of turncoat. We’ll play our trump card, we’ll say we have absolute information that the United States and Peking have decided to launch a simultaneous nuclear attack on the Soviet Union.”

  “Not a very strong trump card,” Bogomolets said. “Proof will be demanded.”

  “The GRU will manufacture that proof,” Admiral Zurahv said. “We’ll only use it if we have to, if Plotovsky has succeeded in turning old Arekelyan to his side. I don’t think Brezhnev will dare to vote with Plotovsky if we raise the issue of national security.” The Navy Captain shook his grizzled head.

  “I still think it’s a chancy thing.”

  Admiral Zurahv shrugged. “Here is what I want you to do. Get off messages to all our missile submarines now at sea. Tell them to take stations and revise targets for missiles to hit at all hard-based missile sites in the United States.” He paused and shifted his position a bit to better accommodate his bulk.

  “In the same message tell them to stand by for a firing order. Send the messages in Code Zebra Seven. We have no evidence that the Americans have cracked that code.”

  Captain Bogomolets stood up and smoothed his uniform tunic. “You intend to begin the attack no matter what the results of the meeting?”

  “I intend to save my country from nuclear death,” Admiral Zurahv said.

  CHAPTER 20

  Admiral Brannon and Moise Goldman walked down the hall in the White House to the door of the Oval Office. The Marine sentry on duty outside the door came to attention and snapped off a salute to Admiral Brannon.

  “Is the President here yet?” Goldman asked the Marine. “Inside sir. Not alone.”

  “Oh?” Goldman said. “Who’s with him?”

  “Captain Steel and Representative Wendell, sir. They got here about fifteen minutes ago. Admiral Benson and his aide are also inside.”

  “Thank you,” Goldman said. He touched Mike Brannon’s arm
and the two men walked a few yards down the hall.

  “We’ve been euchred, Admiral. I might not be able to do any preliminary talking. Play it by ear, sir. Don’t say anything you don’t have to say.” He turned and went back up the hall and the sentry knocked softly on the door and opened it.

  The lights were on in the Oval Office to offset the gloom of the winter day outside. Inside the historic room three men were seated at an oblong table. John Milligan, the President of the United States, a big man whose sloping shoulders and barrel chest were the despair of tailors who tried to fit his suits, sat at the head of the table. At his left hand was Representative Walter W. Wendell and next to him Captain Herman Steel. The President smiled at Goldman and motioned to him to sit in the chair at his right. Mike Brannon took the chair next to Goldman, directly across the table from Captain Steel. Near the end of the table Admiral Benson and Bob Wilson were standing, closing their attaché cases.

  “Thank you for the excellent briefing, Admiral Benson, Mr. Wilson,” the President said. “Please keep me informed.” He waited until the sentry had closed the door after Benson and Wilson left the room and turned to Mike Brannon.

  “Are all admirals insane?” the President asked, looking at Mike Brannon. “This Russian admiral, Zurahv, who Wilson said is leading the hardliners in the Politburo, he must be insane to even think about starting a war.” He put his hands on the table and Mike Brannon noticed that the hands, despite the expert care of a manicurist, showed the signs of the President’s childhood and early manhood on a Kansas farm.

  “You might be a little insane yourself, Admiral,” the President said softly. “Just a little bit. Captain Steel says you are completely mad but I don’t think that’s true.” The somber eyes beneath the thick graying eyebrows fixed on Mike Brannon.

  “Why didn’t you notify me at once when you knew we had lost a submarine? Why didn’t you notify me as soon as you had determined that our submarine had been sunk by the Russians? I’m the Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces of this country, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “I haven’t forgotten, sir,” Brannon answered.

  “Then why didn’t you inform me at once?” He locked his two hands together on the table. “Let me say this to you, Admiral. I told these other gentlemen and the two who left that I wanted the truth, the damned bone truth to be spoken in this meeting and what’s said in this office doesn’t go out of this office and no matter what you say I won’t use it against you.”

  “Very well, sir,” Brannon answered. “I’ll level with you. I figured that if we didn’t do something in retaliation for the sinking of the Sharkfin and do it damned fast the Russians might do something even worse than sinking one of our submarines.

  “I reasoned that if I came to you that your hands would be tied, so far as taking any retaliatory action. You’d have to notify congressional committees and the National Security Council and by the time all the arguing and speech-making was over the story would be in the newspapers and on television and then you wouldn’t be able to do a thing.” His dark blue eyes stared at the President.

  “I issued the orders to destroy the Russian submarine that had sunk the Sharkfin because I am convinced that swift and terrible retaliation is the only language that the Russians understand. I was sure in my own mind that it was the only way to prevent a nuclear war, sir.”

  “It’s a reasonable rationale, Admiral, but you’d better explain why you believe that the Soviet Union was or is ready to attack us.”

  Admiral Brannon looked across the table at Captain Steel and then turned to look at the President.

  “I do not cry wolf, sir,” he began. “My military record will bear that out. But there is a school of thought about how a nuclear war could begin that I think is soundly based. I’ll cover it as quickly as I can.

  “The assumption is, sir, that if the Soviet Union should decide to start a nuclear war they would strike first at our hardened missile sites, at our land-based missile silos. As soon as their missiles were launched at those targets Mr. Brezhnev or whoever is head of the Soviet government, would call you on the hot line and tell you the missiles were underway, that they would hit their targets in about fifty minutes and that loss of American life would be minimal — most of our land missile sites are away from heavily populated areas, as you know, sir.

  “You would be given the choice of surrendering at once, unconditionally, or the next missiles would be launched within minutes at our biggest cities. The probable death toll from that strike could be fifty million or more American lives.” Brannon paused and looked around the table and then back at the President.

  “The assumption, sir, is that you would have no choice but to surrender and save at least fifty million Americans from death.”

  “Horse shit!” the President said. “Anyone who thinks that I, that any American president who sits in this White House would surrender without firing a shot is crazy!” He balled a large hand into a fist and struck the table.

  “We’d fire our own missiles in retaliation.” He looked down the table at Captain Steel.

  “You told me, you testified before the Congress, that your submarine missiles can hit a pickle barrel at three thousand miles. Isn’t that so?” He turned back to Mike Brannon.

  “Admiral, the Russians have to know that they’d be wiped out! They wouldn’t be as stupid as that.”

  “If missile accuracy was what it’s supposed to be I would agree with you, sir,” Mike Brannon said.

  The President nodded his head toward Captain Steel. “Let me hear it again, Captain, tell Admiral Brannon here what you told me and the Congress about how accurate our missiles really are.”

  Captain Steel nodded his head. “Sir,” he began, “the accuracy of our missiles is based on firing under optimum conditions. We have never fired a missile under less than optimum conditions.”

  “Let me put it this way, sir. Each target in the Soviet Union is to be hit by three or more nuclear missiles. We have never fired more than one missile in any test. We don’t have any knowledge of what would happen to the incoming missiles after the first missile exploded, if the incoming missiles would be blown apart in mid-air or blown away from the target. We just don’t know. We’ve never been given permission to make such a test, sir.”

  The President slowly began to crack the knuckles on his right hand with the fingers of his left hand. The popping sound filled the quiet room.

  “You said that your accuracy figures were based on firing under optimum conditions. Correct me if I’m wrong but optimum, if I remember the word, means ideal, perfect?”

  “That’s right, sir,” Captain Steel said. “We have no accuracy figures on missiles fired from polar or near polar waters, sir. We don’t know what effect the polar winds, the temperatures over the Soviet Union would have on missiles.”

  “My God!” the President said. “Go on, Captain.”

  “We have no accuracy figures for land-based missiles, sir, other than those fired from the West Coast to island targets to the west. Obviously, we have never test-fired a missile across the North Pole toward the Soviet Union. We don’t have any accuracy components for those areas, sir.” His ascetic face was tight and drawn.

  “What you’re telling me,” President Milligan said slowly, “is that you and the rest of the fucking military chiefs have been lying! I have been told, sworn to on a stack of Bibles, that even if they attack us first we can literally destroy the Soviet Union. That’s been the rationale behind your nuclear missile submarine programs and all the rest of our nuclear weapons programs — that neither side can dare risk starting a nuclear war. Now you sit here and tell me that our missiles aren’t accurate enough to justify that rationale! God damn it, where’s the truth in you people?”

  “Everyone knows that our figures on accuracy are based on optimum conditions. It’s just that no one ever had the brains to ask about accuracy under unfavorable conditions,” Steel responded. “Nobody tried to pull the hat down over you
r eyes or over any president’s eyes, it’s just that we can’t test under the conditions of war so we do the best we can. And that’s the truth, Mr. President.” He leaned back and hooked one elbow over the back of his chair.

  “The truth is hard to find in this world, Mr. President.” Representative Wendell spoke up suddenly. “The information given to you was given in good faith, sir, in good faith. It’s a matter of politics.” The old Congressman’s wrinkled face was placid.

  “You know perfectly well, Mr. President, that if the military people went before the Appropriations Committee and said well, we know the Roosians are building missiles and we’ve got to match them there but we can’t tell you how accurate the missiles we build will be they wouldn’t get a damned dime! What they’d get is such a whoopin’ and hollerin’ from the press that they’d all be out on their asses.

  “There’s another truth, sir, and that’s that the Roosians know we ain’t as accurate with our missiles as we say we are — and what’s more they know that we know that they ain’t accurate either. In fact, they’re worse shots with missiles under the best of conditions than we ever were or will be!

  “What’s important, Mr. President, is that the Roosians made a move, figuring that we’d never have the guts to do anything about it. This Admiral across the table from me, he hit back. That’s what’s important! They sucker-punched us and Admiral Brannon hit ‘em back, slammed them one right in their damned balls! And the Roosians ain’t done one thing since that time. That’s what’s important.”

  Captain Herman Steel half turned in his chair and stared at the Congressman, his face horrified.

  “Captain Steel,” the President’s voice was low, soft. Steel turned away from staring at Representative Wendell with an effort and looked at the President.

  “I want you to do something for me. I want your best estimate of our nuclear missile accuracy under the conditions we’re likely to face if we have to use those missiles. I understand that it’s never been done but I think that you’re the best man I could ask to do that. I want to see your figures as soon as you can pull them together. Now if you’ll excuse us, I have to do some talking to Admiral Brannon.” Captain Steel nodded and rose. He looked down at the old Congressman, who smiled up at him, turned, and left the room. The President turned to Admiral Brannon as the door closed behind Captain Steel.