Don Pendleton - Civil War II Read online

"My name is Butterfield, Mr. Winston. Federated Wire Press. In your mention of free press, is this an indication that the provisional government is abolishing the censorship regulations which have been in effect since 1993?"

  "Precisely," Winston immediately replied. "How can a

  press be both free and ccnsorcd?"

  Pandemonium erupted in -the press room. Winston looked at Howard Silverman and grinned. Silverman returned the grin, sat back, lit a cigarette, and let pandemonium reign.

  CHAPTER 6

  In the corner of his vision, Mike Winston saw the black colonel in the U.S. Army uniform quietly enter the press room and huddle with Normal Ritter, and the look on the colonel's face left little doubt that his business was gravely urgent. So Winston was prepared for bad news when Ritter swung beside him at the rostrum to whisper, "Bogan says you should come to the War Room right away. Something's up."

  Winston turned the press proceedings over to Howard Silverman and made a quick exit. He had only the vaguest idea as to the location of the White House War Room, but the colonel was in the vanguard of the little procession of bodyguards and all the new chief of state had to do was follow the parade. They packed themselves into an elevator and descended to the subterranean level.

  General Bogan awaited him. The place was a duplicate in miniature of the big combat central at the Pentagon. Uniformed men sat quietly at consoles and peered into viewscreens. Each of them, Winston noted, were commissioned officers and—of course—black.

  Bogan was telling him, in that quietly authoritative voice, "Our Automated Pacific Line is picking up some

  unusual activity in the air over Eastern China. Automated Defense Command says it's a positive airlift. They can even tell you the type of aircraft if you're interested."

  "So what does it mean to you?" Winston asked the military mind.

  "It means an airborne invasion, Mr. Winston," the General replied.

  "What would be your normal reaction to intelligence of this sort?"

  "Our normal course would be to notify the President. With his concurrence, we would then hot-line a formal warning to the offending government and immediately activate the appropriate thermo-magnetic screens."

  Winston frowned. "Now unscramble that for me as it applies to this specific instance."

  "Our WestPac TM screen follows roughly the 180th longitude, the International Date Line. We need to notify Peking and get those air barriers activated."

  "Then do it."

  Bogan smiled faintly. "I was hoping you'd be that decisive." He passed brief orders to the colonel who had come for Winston, and the man went quickly to a command console. Then the General told Winston, "The screens aren't that perfect, of course. We can't cover the entire line continuously. We work an alternating pattern, and the Chinese have instruments which can locate those magnetic fields several hundred miles in advance of their flight paths. But this at least serves notice that we are in defense posture. And we'll know pretty soon if they are simply probing us or if they are committed to an all-out attack."

  "And suppose they are committed?" Winston wanted to know.

  "Then there will be a lot of Chinese buried at sea. Some will get through, perhaps forty percent of their airlift. We could get another twenty percent with our missiles. Even so, they could land a formidable force for us to contend with. It depends on just how badly they need our foodstuffs."

  Winston was fervently wishing that he knew a bit more about the national defense apparatus. He asked Bogan,

  "What are the chances of this becoming a nuclear conflict?"

  "You mean bombers and missiles?" The General screwed his face into a grimace. "Very remote, I'd say. They wouldn't be gaining much by destroying or contaminating our agriculture. That's their only interest, you know. Food."

  "Okay," Winston said. "But let's keep a close eye on that possibility, just the same. Are we equipped to handle a nuclear attack?"

  The General showed him an expression of pathos and replied, "Is anyone ever prepared to handle nuclear war, Mr. Winston? I believe we could survive, if that's what you mean."

  "I'm leaving it in your hands," the Director told the General. "I'm not qualified to even make decisions of this nature. You are. I've got to be up there with my task force and get busy on the domestic problems. But you keep me—"

  Winston was interrupted by the sudden appearance in the War Room of John Douglas, the Washington Intelligence Chief. Douglas seemed less immaculate than before, disheveled almost, and he seemed out of breath as he hastily crossed the room toward the Winston group.

  "What the hell is it now?" Winston muttered.

  "Must be bad," Ritter commented. "John doesn't heat up easily."

  The intelligence man paused to catch his breath, with both arms draped across the top of a console desk, then panted, "Just got word! Came quick as I could. They're running wild! Ripping through everything like crazy men."

  "They whoT Winston barked.

  "The tong, the southern long. They've gone crazy. They've disavowed Abe Williams and the manifesto. And they're running wild in Dixie!"

  Mike Winston restlessly paced the floors of the War Room, the lines of his face drawn in deep concern. General Bogan was manning a communications console. Howard Silverman sat in a telephone turret, near the door,

  scribbling notes on a large pad.

  Ritter hurtled in from an adjoining conference room. "I talked to Abe!" he announced. "It's no good. They told him to get screwed. He says he's lost them!"

  "How many towns are involved in the revolt?" Shelton snapped.

  "So far just Hattiesburg,"

  "Then by God we've got to pull some regulars in there and sit on those people! General Bogan! How many troops can we airlift to—"

  "No good, Michael," the General told him. "I've thought of that, and it won't work. It's something of a miracle that only Hattiesburg has pulled out. We start showing muscle down there, the others will line up damn quick behind the rebels. They're all more sympathetic to Hattiesburg than they are to us."

  "Hell yes," Ritter chimed in. "Abe's been using every persuader in the book to keep that tong in line. He says they could go the other way any time. Just any time. He's afraid we could have a full southern revolt on our hands before the day's over."

  "I want to know how it happened," Winston muttered. "Just how the hell did it happen?"

  "God, I don't know, Winston," Ritter said meekly.

  Howard Silverman stepped out of the turret, frowningly consulting his note pad. "Don't know how it happened," he told Winston, "but here's a pretty accurate recap of what has happened. Jackson is in flames. The dead and the dying litter the streets—men, women, kids—it's a slaughter. They're using Patton's tactics in the business district, throwing heavy armor-piercing shells down through a line of buildings to breach the front walls. Most of the town is a rubble already.

  "Same story at Meridian, only maybe twice as bad on the death toll. They're driving those big Sherman tanks right through the houses, block after block of them. And at the port of Mobile . . . -they're even sinking shipping. And they're racing through the countryside in armored columns, demolishing strip cities and farming villages one after another; isolated farmhouses are being assaulted. It's

  a terrible picture . . . terrible."

  Bogan looked up from his console and reported, "Well, the story is beginning to emerge. Sounds like it started with a vendetta list which someone with a long memory and a festering hate has been keeping alive all these years. Names of Klansmen and other hate merchants very well preserved. Ritter, I believe your man down there—what's the name, Hatfield? Uh-huh, that's the guy. He hates long and hard, I guess. They've been keeping very quiet tabs on their old enemies down there. They began rounding up the ones who were still living early this morning."

  "I know nothing of any vendetta lists," Ritter protested.

  "Didn't say you did. Just reporting what's going on."

  "Nothing new there," Silverman put in. "Isr
ael was still hunting Nazis in the seventies."

  "Well it's about the same thing we got here now," Bogan declared. "The Klans are still active down there. I guess they've just been hating one another all these years but they're still organized. Here's the story as it came through my liaison man with Hattiesburg. These people have a klavern or something near Yazoo City. That's in Mississippi. Now when Hatfield began rounding up his old enemies, these guys cut loose. Ambushed a couple truckloads of infantry that were headed for a bivouac outside of Jackson. Killed 'em all, about sixty men. But it wasn't just the killing that sent Hattiesburg blood crazy. It was the atrocities. Those bodies were mutilated, hanging from trees all along the highway. Their genitals hung around their necks or stuffed into their own mouths."

  Winston smacked a console with his open palm, drew the hand up, stared at it, cussed at it, massaged, then cussed some more while he lit a cigarette. He growled, "Insanity. It never ends."

  Ritter commented, "Nobody ever said the world was perfect."

  A light on Bogan's console was flashing. The General responded quickly, speaking into a headset. Presently he said, "Yes, I have that. Thank you, Jacksonville." He turned to the others with a forlorn face and mumbled, "It's

  spreading. Litde town in northern Florida just got taken off the map."

  Winston squeezed the General's shoulder, then gently relieved him of the headset and dropped it onto the console. "All right," he said heavily, "we're not going to get anywhere merely tracking the insanity. We have to stop it. How are we going to do that? Does anyone have any bright ideas?"

  All eyes were staring at Winston, but no one ventured a suggestion. His gaze fastened firmly upon Jackson Bogan. "I'll want a talk with your missiles man," he said quietly.

  The General replied, "You mean Automated Defense?"

  "Whatever you call it. Get your expert over here, and get him here damn quick."

  "What's the idea?" Ritter inquired. "We can't use ADS. Can we?"

  "That," said Mike Winston, "is precisely what I intend to explore."

  CHAPTER 7

  Colonel Melvin Stanley was a moderately young career officer, and he was Jackson Bogan's handpicked CADC, Chief of the Automated Defense Command. He awkwardly shook hands with the new white leader and diffidently told him, "We are watching this Chinese thing very closely, sir."

  "Good," Winston replied. "ADC is a joint forces thing, isn't it? Army, Navy, Air Force?"

  "Yes sir."

  "And you run the whole show?"

  "Yes sir."

  Winston studied the man for a moment, than abruptly asked him, "Are you a soldier or a scientist?"

  "I'm both, sir. Well... I'm a systems officer."

  "I see. And you thoroughly understand the automated system? The mechanics of the thing? The missiles themselves, even?"

  "Yes sir."

  "How good are our missiles?"

  "Very good, sir. But they constitute a small part of the overall automated systems."

  "Yes, I understand that," Winston replied. "But right now I'm particularly interested in the missiles. Do you

  have some sort of manual control over things? I mean, can you put a missile into the outer atmosphere and detonate the warhead anytime you wish? Or do you have to wait for the monster to think?"

  "It thinks what we tell it to think, sir," Stanley said, his voice showing wonder at what the hell was going on. "We can program our birds into any hole in space, or any quarter of the globe, and at any time we wish."

  Winston smiled grimly at the colonel and told him, "All right, that's exacdy what I wanted to know. Now tell me about these "clean' warheads. Suppose we did detonate a missile over the Atlantic or over the Gulf of Mexico at an altitude of ... oh, say twenty miles or so. What would be the ground effect and the atmosphere effect over our land areas?"

  The Colonel looked perplexed. "I'm not sure I understand the question. Did you have a specific application in mind, sir?"

  Winston measured the man again, then sighed and told him, "I want to scare the pants off of some people. I don't want to knock any chunks of land off into the sea, or start any volcanoes in Mexico, or contaminate any crops, and I don't want to kill any one. I just want to scare the hell out of them."

  Stanley did not have to even think about it. "We could use light tactical weapons for that purpose, sir. We have a type with a small nuclear warhead. It has never been operationally tested with the warhead aboard—they took away our funds for that purpose—but this bird was designed for use over continental areas and for close range, last-ditch missile defense. It is regarded as a feasible defense at altitudes as low as 30,000 feet."

  "Fine," Winston said. "Keep talking."

  "We could get some contamination of our atmospheres, but only in certain unfavorable weather conditions. Also we might get some barely tolerable heat generated by this weapon, but it is really of very low yield—very clean—and with most of the shock waves traveling horizontally through the atmosphere. That's the theory. As I said, we've never op-tested this warhead."

  "But such a shot would be seen and perhaps experienced physically for quite a few miles?"

  The officer nodded. "Oh absolutely. It would be a spectacular display at about ten miles up. In a night shot, the entire eastern half of the United States would be brightly illuminated from a coastal window. It would be like sudden sunlight—a new sun, you might say, and for a period of several minutes. Also, at that altitude, the horizontal shock waves would ripple along for hundreds of miles, creating a tremendous rumble like thunder you've never heard. Yes, it would be a spectacular shot. It would certainly command plenty of attention, if that's what you're looking for."

  "Thank you, Colonel," Winston said. "That is exactly what I am looking for." He turned to regard the General. "Jack? What do you think?"

  "It sounds feasible," Bogan admitted. "But you know what you're playing with, don't you? Atomic weaponry. That's the dirtiest word this planet has ever come up with." He fixed Colonel Stanley with a sharp gaze. "Tell me, Mel, are your emplacements so located that you could target these tactical birds over the Gulf at such a point that it could be experienced into the interiors of Mississippi and Alabama?"

  "We can put that bird any damn place you want it, General."

  "That doesn't answer my question, Mel. Can we keep the detonations over ocean areas and still get the effect as far inland as northern Mississippi?"

  "No, sir, we cannot. But I can put a ring of fire any damn place you want it. In any event, damage to land areas would be limited to minor shock wave effect. And perhaps a bit of heat."

  "No radioactive fallout?"

  "I can't guarantee that, General," Stanley replied. "But ... for what my professional opinion is worth, I'd say it's a negligible risk. Will some one tell me what this is all about? Is this a hypothetical drill, or are we seriously contemplating such an action?"

  "It's no drill, Mel," the General said. His gaze was on

  Mike Winston. "Remember, Mr. Winston," he warned, "it's the dirtiest word there is. And it's your decision."

  "The hell it is," Winston said quietly. "I want a joint decision, and you'll remember that it's covered in your manifesto. Actually, it's more your decision than mine."

  The two men locked gazes for an instant, then Bogan's eyes deflected. He sighed and said, "All right, Michael. You're right. If you want to try it, go ahead. I concur."

  "There's actually no decision to it," Winston told him. "We have a human-type nuclear reaction racing through the south right now. And it seems as though ADS is our only deterrent force. Colonel Stanley?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  Howard Silverman yelled from the turret at that instant. "Okay! There she goes! It's a crown fire! Little town just across the border into Arkansas just got hit, a place called Eudora. Also a couple in Alabama. It's a crown fire!"

  "Or a nuclear reaction," Winston muttered. He took Colonel Stanley by the arm and marched him to a wall display of the United States. With a greas
e pencil he drew a circle in the southeast portion of the country. "Bracket them," he commanded simply. He jerked the map off the wall and gave it to the Colonel.

  "Yes sir, I understand."

  "You know what I want. Put some birds up there. The total number I leave entirely to your superior knowledge. But I want every person in that area to know without any doubt whatever that nuclear devices are exploding above their heads."

  "Yes sir."

  "All right. How long, Colonel?"

  "How long, sir?"

  "Before your birds are aloft."

  The Colonel frowned. "These will be manual mode launchings. I'll have to program the coordinates and select the appropriate sites. Say ten minutes."

  "All right, let's say twenty, and the timing is all-important. I want those warheads felt in exactly twenty minutes."

  "Can you give me a written order to cover this, sir?"

  "Who the hell gave me any written orders?" Winston j snapped. "Twenty minutes, Stanley, or I'll have it written all over your ass!"

  "Yes sir. Exactly twenty minutes, sir." The Colonel back-stepped, threw Mr. Director a smart salute, and went to talk to his birds.

  Winston, Bogan, Silverman, and Ritter had retired to the conference alcove adjoining the War Room. Now a dead calm prevailed there. Winston had gone to a wall map and was silently staring at it, hands on his hips, lips pursed thoughtfully.

  The rattle of diaphragms in telephone receivers scattered along the conference table could be plainly heard. Silverman was slumped in a chair, staring at the telephone, a perplexity working at his craggy features, hands crossed on one knee.

  Norman Ritter was staring at the back of Michael Winston, and he was quieter than perhaps at any other time during his adult life.

  General Bogan watched the play of emotion across the redhead's face, then he moved alongside him and asked, "Something bothering you, Norm?"

  Ritter's eyes swiveled about to rest lightly on the old soldier, then they returned abruptly to the object of his intent interest. "That man there bothers me," he said softly. "I just realized what he's doing. He's atom bombing us. He's attacking my country with nuclear weapons."