Out of the Ashes

“Goddamn it!” Ringold said. “What small-class experimental sub?”

“It was top secret,” the admiral said. “Very few people knew anything about it.”

“Well ... thanks just a whole hell of a lot!” Ringold blurted.

The admiral shrugged his total indifference as to what Ringold thought. “You didn't have a need to know.” The admiral then added, “Shit!” Then he put together a string of expletives that made the Watergate tapes sound like children's nursery rhymes.

“Where in the hell could a sub hide for this long?” Ringold asked.

“This sub could hide anywhere it wanted to hide,” Travee said. “It's invisible. Sonar can't detect it. But God, it was expensive to build. Greatest weapon invented in the past fifty years. Came along much faster than its airborne counterpart. For all the good it's going to do us.”

“All right,” Secretary Rees said. “Do we or don't we notify the Russians and the Chinese? Do we tell them what we know—what we suspect? Take a chance?”

“What do we know we can prove?” General Dowling of the Marine Corps asked.

“We have nothing we can prove,” Brady said. “No hard evidence to present to them. And,” he said softly, “do we have the time? The Chinese—and this is my personal opinion—would, I think, behave in a decent manner. The Russians I wouldn't trust as far as I could spit. Their minds would work this way: the sub is American; the missiles are American; the crew is American—the fault is ours. They'd drag us right into a war. We don't know where the sub is; we can't stop it. No,"—he sighed—"I think we have to chance this and hope we take minimum casualties. And the American people must not learn of this. The instant we assume a public defensive posture, the sub will fire its missiles. The American people won't have time to do anything. Besides, we don't know how many missiles will make it through our screens.”

“That's a damned cold-blooded attitude!” Ringold said.

“But a necessary one.” Brady defended his statements. “Better the people are surprised—if it comes to that—than have several days of pure panic. And"—he held up a finger—"the Russians have a very good civil defense system: bunkers, food, water. The U.S. has shit for CD. Let the Russians get the message the same time our people receive it. More dead Russians and less U.S. casualties.”

“I'll go along with that,” Divico said. The other members of the Joint Chiefs nodded in agreement.

“Let me say this,” Fayers said. “Mr. Brady believes the launch will be made within a week. All right, we'll stay with that hypothesis. We don't know where the sub is, but we'll assume it's in position to fire. Now, according to Ringold, his bureau has never heard of the rebels. Fine. As far as I'm concerned the rebels—if they exist—are of little concern at this moment. I'm not sure how we would go about breaking up a group we didn't know existed—again, if they do—until a couple of hours ago. We don't know what military units are involved in this, or where they are located. We don't know what commanders we can trust. For that matter, I don't know if I can trust any of my staff, and you don't know if you can trust me. I don't know if I can trust any of you!”

Fayers’ gaze swept each man. Words of protestation formed on each tongue, then died before being sounded, each man knowing there was nothing he could do to convince the others of his innocence.

Fayers continued. “So we have to assume we can trust each other. That is the only way we can possibly deal with this.”

“How is the sub armed?” Ringold asked, feeling a bit less left out.

The admiral sighed, cutting his eyes to General Travee. “With Thunder-strikes,” he said.

“Oh, hell!” Hyde of the Air Force and Dowling of the Marine Corps spoke in unison.

“What is a Thunder-strike?” Ringold asked. The feeling of being left out once more struck him.

“Yes.” The president leaned forward. “I'd like to know that myself. I've never heard of anything called Thunder-strike.” He glanced at each of the Joint Chiefs.

General Hyde said, “The ... ah ... president before you ... ah ... authorized them, sir. Before our tenure on the Joint Chiefs, I might add,” he said, a bit defensively. “The code name is ‘Supersnoop.’ It is not a large missile, but it is very powerful ... and practically unstoppable. Like the sub, it's Stealth-coated. No one will pick them up until it's too late. Hugs the ground.”

“How very interesting,” President Fayers said dryly. “How very informative. I can but assume construction continued even after the latest SALT was signed?”

Divico cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”

“And they are not included in the breakdown of our nuclear arsenal?”

“That is correct, sir,” Divico admitted.

“Well, isn't that marvelous?” the president said. “That sure as hell lets out telling the Russians anything, doesn't it, gentlemen?”

No one said anything in rebuttal.

Fayers’ tone was sharp. “How many of these Thunder-strikes do we possess?”

“One hundred and fifty,” General Dowling replied.

Fayers swung his gaze to the marine. “You all knew of these missiles?”