Swan Song Read Free

they’re not planning a first strike? What if they believe we are? If we show force, might it not push them over the edge?”
    Hannan took a cigarette from a silver case and lit it. Again the president’s eyes were drawn to the flame. “Sir,” Hannan replied softly, as if speaking to a retarded child, “if the Soviets respect anything, it’s force. You know that as well as every man in this room, especially since the Persian Gulf incident. They want territory, and they’re prepared to destroy us and to take their share of casualties to get it. Hell, their economy is worse than ours! They’re going to keep pushing us until we either break or strike-and if we delay until we break, God help us.”
    “No.” The president shook his head. They’d been over this many times, and the idea sickened him. “No. We will not deliver a first strike.”
    “The Soviets,” Hannan continued patiently, “understand the diplomacy of the fist. I’m not saying I think we should destroy the Soviet Union. But I do believe-fervently-that now is the time to tell them, and decisively, that we’ll not be pushed, and we won’t let their nuclear submarines sit off our shores waiting for launch codes!”
    The president stared at his hands. The knot of his tie felt like a hangman’s noose, and there was sweat under his arms and at the small of his back. “Meaning what?” he asked.
    “Meaning we intercept those goddamned submarines immediately. We destroy them if they won’t turn back. We go to Defcon Three at all air bases and ICBM installations.” Hannan looked quickly around the table to judge who stood with him. Only the vice-president glanced away, but Hannan knew he was a weak man and his opinion carried no weight. “We intercept any Soviet nuclear vessel leaving Riga, Murmansk or Vladivostok. We take control of the sea again-and if that means limited nuclear contact, then so be it.”
    “Blockade,” the president said. “Wouldn’t that make them more eager to fight?”
    “Sir?” General Sinclair spoke in a folksy, down-home Virginia drawl. “I think the reasonin’ goes like this: Ivan’s got to believe we’ll risk our asses to blow him to hell and back. And to be honest, sir, I don’t think there’s a man jack here who’ll sit still and let Ivan throw a shitload of SLBMs at us without gettin’ our own knock in. No matter what the casualty toll.” He leaned forward, his piercing stare directed at the president. “I can put SAC and NORAD on Defcon Three within two minutes of your okay. I can send a squadron of B-1s right up to Ivan’s back door within one hour. Just kinda give him a gentle prod, y’see.”
    “But… they’ll think we’re attacking!”
    “The point is that they’ll know we’re not afraid.” Hannan tapped a stalk of ash into his ashtray. “If that’s crazy, okay. But by God, the Russians respect insanity more than they respect fear! If we let them bring nuclear missiles to bear on our coastlines without lifting a finger, we’re signing a death warrant for the United States of America!”
    The president closed his eyes. Jerked them open again. He had seen burning cities and charred black things that had once been human beings. With an effort he said, “I don’t… I don’t want to be the man who starts World War Three. Can you understand that?”
    “It’s already started,” Sinclair spoke up. “Hell, the whole damned world’s at war, and everybody’s waitin’ for either Ivan or us to give the knockout punch. Maybe the whole future of the world depends on who’s willin’ to be the craziest! I agree with Hans; if we don’t make a move right soon, a mighty hard rain’s gonna fall on our tin roof.”
    “They’ll back off,” Narramore said flatly. “They’ve backed off before. If we send hunter-killer groups after those subs and blow them out of the water, they’ll know where the line’s drawn. So: Do we sit and wait, or do we show them our muscle?”
    “Sir?” Hannan