Secretary himself was more direct. “What the hell do you mean by that?” he snapped, his heavy eyebrows closing together. “ We had the H-bomb first. Have you forgotten Bikini?”
General Follett dipped his chin, knowing the chance he was taking to make his point. “We—American scientists—detonated the first thermonuclear device on Bikini Atoll, that is correct,” he said. “The device used tritium and deuterium to fuel the reaction. These isotopes were in such short supply that no significant—no military—use could have been made of the principle. Furthermore”—the Secretary of State’s look was fading from irritation to puzzlement, but Follett avoided making eye contact—“the tritium had to be chilled. The entire apparatus would have filled two railroad boxcars. It could not have been transported by air, much less delivered in the military sense of the term. Unlike the bomb the Russians exploded nine months later, using lithium hydride instead of heavy hydrogen as the major fuel element.”
“Fortunately,” broke in Rear Admiral Haynes, “by analyzing fallout from the blast, we were able to duplicate the Soviets’ research before their advantage became decisive. Our own personnel—scientists—had determined to their satisfaction that lithium hydride would not sustain a thermonuclear reaction. Fortunately, they were not wholly incapable of learning from their opponents. I assure you, the Soviets gained nothing from Klaus Fuchs and his like to equal what we learned from Soviet above-ground testing.”
“All right, get to the point,” said the Secretary, straightening again in his chair. The men in uniform had five minutes, a fact the politician made adequately clear by glancing at his thin, gold watch.
“The problem with particle beam weapons,” said Follett, plunging toward the invisible deadline, “and with all energy weapons, is the energy source. It’s all very well to tie into the commercial power grid when we’re testing devices here in Tennessee or Nevada. For the weapons to be really effective, however, they need to be based in space, in orbit over the sites from which hostile missiles may be launched. For that . . . well, all manner of solutions have been suggested. But the simple solution, and a solution that might work for the microseconds which are all a particle beam”—he tapped the dummy nose cone—“requires, would be to detonate a thermonuclear device and focus portions of its energy output into, ah, beams.”
“How are you going to focus something that’s vaporizing everything around it the moment it gets there?” asked the Secretary. The demonstration he had just seen was real. If the reason behind it turned out to be nonsense, he was out the door and gone, though. “Look, Follett, we have a Science Committee at State, too. If you people want to go jaw them about this stuff, that’s fine, but I’m on a tight schedule.”
“Many of the best minds in the field agree, Mr. Secretary,” the general said soothingly, “that such a proposal is impossible, even in theory. It would appear, however, that on the other side of the line there’s a Professor Evgeny Vlasov, who has developed a—theoretical, at least—method of drawing several dozen simultaneous, magnetically focused, bursts from a single thermonuclear device.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, call it an H-bomb like a human being!” snapped the Secretary of State. He was not looking at the military men, though. His bushy stare was directed at some indefinite bank of instruments while his fingers drummed the side of the chair seat. His mind was neither place, turning over possibilities. He looked up at Follett. “If that were true,” he said carefully, “any missiles we attempted to send over the Pole would detonate a few yards out of their silos. That’s what you’re trying to tell me?”
Redstone, the Brigadier general, spoke for the first time since the demonstration. “Yeah, with normal
General Follett dipped his chin, knowing the chance he was taking to make his point. “We—American scientists—detonated the first thermonuclear device on Bikini Atoll, that is correct,” he said. “The device used tritium and deuterium to fuel the reaction. These isotopes were in such short supply that no significant—no military—use could have been made of the principle. Furthermore”—the Secretary of State’s look was fading from irritation to puzzlement, but Follett avoided making eye contact—“the tritium had to be chilled. The entire apparatus would have filled two railroad boxcars. It could not have been transported by air, much less delivered in the military sense of the term. Unlike the bomb the Russians exploded nine months later, using lithium hydride instead of heavy hydrogen as the major fuel element.”
“Fortunately,” broke in Rear Admiral Haynes, “by analyzing fallout from the blast, we were able to duplicate the Soviets’ research before their advantage became decisive. Our own personnel—scientists—had determined to their satisfaction that lithium hydride would not sustain a thermonuclear reaction. Fortunately, they were not wholly incapable of learning from their opponents. I assure you, the Soviets gained nothing from Klaus Fuchs and his like to equal what we learned from Soviet above-ground testing.”
“All right, get to the point,” said the Secretary, straightening again in his chair. The men in uniform had five minutes, a fact the politician made adequately clear by glancing at his thin, gold watch.
“The problem with particle beam weapons,” said Follett, plunging toward the invisible deadline, “and with all energy weapons, is the energy source. It’s all very well to tie into the commercial power grid when we’re testing devices here in Tennessee or Nevada. For the weapons to be really effective, however, they need to be based in space, in orbit over the sites from which hostile missiles may be launched. For that . . . well, all manner of solutions have been suggested. But the simple solution, and a solution that might work for the microseconds which are all a particle beam”—he tapped the dummy nose cone—“requires, would be to detonate a thermonuclear device and focus portions of its energy output into, ah, beams.”
“How are you going to focus something that’s vaporizing everything around it the moment it gets there?” asked the Secretary. The demonstration he had just seen was real. If the reason behind it turned out to be nonsense, he was out the door and gone, though. “Look, Follett, we have a Science Committee at State, too. If you people want to go jaw them about this stuff, that’s fine, but I’m on a tight schedule.”
“Many of the best minds in the field agree, Mr. Secretary,” the general said soothingly, “that such a proposal is impossible, even in theory. It would appear, however, that on the other side of the line there’s a Professor Evgeny Vlasov, who has developed a—theoretical, at least—method of drawing several dozen simultaneous, magnetically focused, bursts from a single thermonuclear device.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, call it an H-bomb like a human being!” snapped the Secretary of State. He was not looking at the military men, though. His bushy stare was directed at some indefinite bank of instruments while his fingers drummed the side of the chair seat. His mind was neither place, turning over possibilities. He looked up at Follett. “If that were true,” he said carefully, “any missiles we attempted to send over the Pole would detonate a few yards out of their silos. That’s what you’re trying to tell me?”
Redstone, the Brigadier general, spoke for the first time since the demonstration. “Yeah, with normal
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