Promise of Joy (32 page)

“You are here, I think”—and his tone became quite pleasant for a moment—“because you are beaten and you know it. Ah, yes, I know!” he added quickly, as an angry stirring came from across the table. “You don’t wish to have it stated so bluntly, you don’t wish to admit it, you say
I
am the one who sought this meeting, not you. Nonetheless, you are here, and the reason
I
sought it, gentlemen, is because it seemed to me there was no point in further bloodshed when your cause is already lost. It seemed to me that sheer stubbornness on the part of the President might prevent the only outcome—genuine peace—that the world can or will accept. Therefore I came to you, for we should not permit the world’s wounds to bleed any longer. If you do not feel this responsibility, Mr. President,
I
do. So
I
moved. It is all very clear.”

“Where are the Chinese?” the President inquired. For a second the question appeared to have the effect he sought. But Vasily Tashikov was not a clever man for nothing, and quickly he laughed and dismissed it with a deprecatory wave of the hand.

“The Chinese!” he repeated cheerfully. “The Chinese!”

“Yes,” Orrin said, “the Chinese. Where are they?”

“Why, in Peking, Mr. President! In Peking, where I am scheduled to arrive tomorrow, carrying word that you have accepted our terms. They are expecting me. I shall report to them. I am their agent here. That is where the Chinese are,” he said, and for just a second an emphatic hardness came into his voice. “In Peking, where they belong. And, of course,” he went on smoothly, “beside us on the battlefields, fighting successfully in the people’s cause to conquer the imperialist capitalist aggressions of the United States.”

“And you’re going there tomorrow,” the President said slowly, “… with our agreement to your terms.”

“There is no doubt we will have it,” Tashikov said calmly. “There is no doubt at all. Because, let us survey the fields of battle and see where we stand.

“Let us take Gorotoland first. The forces of the usurper Terence Ajkaje—”

“The hereditary ruler,” Cullee Hamilton interrupted, “much as I dislike him.”

“The usurper Ajkaje,” the Chairman repeated firmly. “The forces of the usurper, and the forces of the United States, which, in defiance of the United Nations, world opinion and a majority of your own people, still persist in trying to save the usurper, have been driven steadily back to the point where they are now virtually surrounded and doomed to surrender at any moment. Furthermore, their supplies are reaching a dangerously low point, and let us be honest about it, Mr. President, Mr. ex-President, Mr. Vice President, all of you gentlemen:
there is nothing more which can be sent them.

“We know that,” he added firmly as Blair Hannah shifted in his chair, “because we have sources in the Pentagon quite as good as yours, Mr. Secretary. History has shown on many occasions in recent years that there are people in the Pentagon who love world peace more than they love their own peace-betraying country. They tell us things; they give us documents. So do not try to bluff us. The matériel is not there. The manpower is not there. The support of Congress is not there. Nothing is there but the stubborn unwillingness of the President to face facts.
And this we know.”
A sudden anger crossed his face for a moment. “So please do not try to treat us like children.
We know.

“So, then: we come to Panama. The situation there is the same. You are beaten back, you are defeated, you are on the verge of surrender. The corrupt regime you seek to preserve can give you no assistance, there is nothing in your own larder: your war machine is about to starve to death for lack of supplies, just as it is in Gorotoland. Nothing can reverse this trend—nothing. And this, too,
we know.

“Therefore, Mr. President and gentlemen, we think it is time to talk.”

“Why?” the President asked, looking tired but determined.

“If for no other reason,” Tashikov said in a tone almost pitying, “because you are likely to lose your son and daughter-in-law if you do not. Now, do not misunderstand me!” he said sharply as his listeners on the other side of the table shifted angrily in their seats.

“My government has absolutely nothing—
absolutely nothing—
to do with the insane psychotics who have your children—”

“Except to create a climate in the world in which psychotics feel free to roam,” William Abbott said bitterly.

“Absolutely nothing!” Tashikov snapped, ignoring him. “We deplore it, it is not our doing, and besides, we do not need it. You are defeated anyway. Why should we indulge in unnecessary violence, when you are finished? It would be pointless. We do not do pointless things. Therefore, for myself and my government, Mr. President, I say: we regret this, and we do not condone it. We hope they return to you safely.
But:
it is your decision whether they do. No one else can decide it for you. You and you alone hold the fate of your young Congressman and his wife. As of course,” he added softly, “you hold the fate of many other fine young Americans and their wives.…

“So, then. Beaten in Gorotoland. Beaten in Panama. Beaten in Congress. Beaten in world opinion. Beaten in the minds of a majority of your countrymen. And still you fight on. In fact, you even talk of a new offensive—”

“That worries you, doesn’t it?” the President said. “You don’t like that, do you?”

“No, we do not!” Tashikov snapped. “Because we think it is insanity. Because we think it can only mean further useless bloodshed.
Because we know you cannot win.”

“But you don’t really know that,” the President said softly. “That, you really don’t know. And you wonder. And it worries you. And so you are here, not because
we
are weak but because you are afraid that we may still be stronger than you when it comes to the test … and because, I think, you are afraid that you may not be able to hold things together on your side much longer, if the wars go on. You must win soon or not win at all. Isn’t that the truth of it, Mr. Chairman?”

“No, it is not the truth of it!” Vasily Tashikov cried. “That is bluff! Empty bluff! I will show you the truth of it, Mr. President and gentlemen, since you are so pigheaded and so blind. Comrades!” And he rounded so suddenly on the generals and admirals seated beside him that a couple of them actually jumped. “Bring out your charts! Bring out your photographs! Bring out your maps! Show these arrogant madmen what their true military situation is!”

And for the next half hour he and his colleagues proceeded to do so: the bomb-carrying satellites hovering everywhere over the earth; the submarines on station off both coasts of the United States; the secret missile bases in Cuba and elsewhere in Latin America; the secret installations in the untracked Arctic wastes of touchy, unsuspecting Canada; the worldwide network of air bases; the fleets of conventional naval craft afloat in every sea; the millions of men and women under arms; the worldwide network of spies, saboteurs and informants working ceaselessly inside the United States and everywhere else to assist the imperial ambitions of the nation whose smugly satisfied leader sat across the table uttering occasional little grunts of satisfaction as his officers displayed their deadly wares.

It was an amazingly candid and amazingly complete accounting, provided for one purpose only: to scare the Americans into surrender without further defiance.

When the recital ended there were no visible signs that this had been accomplished; although the President, looking thoughtfully from face to face, wondered what the reaction would be when they got away from this carefully orchestrated pressure chamber and were back on their own home ground.

And so, obviously, wondered the Chairman and his colleagues as, stolid and impassive save for Vasily, who could not resist little chuckles and chortles and happy sounds from time to time, they surveyed the outwardly impassive but inwardly shaken Americans across the table. At least they thought the Americans must be shaken, so admittedly impressive and overwhelming was the array of horrors spread before them. Yet here, as always, men failed to comprehend innate American optimism; nor did they give sufficient weight to “Orrin’s little extra.”

Presently, as the Chairman looked at him expectantly and challenged,
“Well,
Mr. President?”—it came out.

“Once before,” the President said, and the room was very still and they listened very closely for intimations of fear which did not come, “I was privileged—or unfortunate enough—to attend a meeting in Geneva somewhat similar to this. You will recall, Mr. Chairman, for you were there too, that the principals were the two gentlemen then occupying the Presidency and the Chairmanship. You will recall as vividly as I, Senator Munson and Senator Strickland, who also were there, what happened from your side on that occasion: virtually the same thing, and for the same reason—to frighten the United States into giving in without further ado to every insane ambition of the Soviet hierarchy.

“And you will further recall the response of the President of the United States, that good man, Harley Hudson: he told you you were crazy, and he got up and walked out. And that”—he pushed back his chair and stood up—“is, I think, a fine practice for American Presidents to follow in situations such as this. And so I shall make it my own. Gentlemen—”

And he gave Tashikov a cursory nod that barely maintained civility, turned and walked out, followed, after a moment’s startled hesitation, by his countrymen.

Behind them as the gates slammed shut they could hear Tashikov shouting into the frozen night, “You will be sorry for this, Mr. President!
Knox, you will be sorry!”

But he did not turn back, reply or in any way acknowledge this kindly farewell, any more than Harley had under similar circumstances two years ago—though now the stakes were even higher, the risks of defiance even greater and the consequences, in every sector, even more dreadfully in doubt.

When they reached the White House, passing once again through the silent and now completely deserted streets, it was almost 2 a.m. and bitterly cold. But although they all looked tired, none more desperately so than himself, he turned to them with a businesslike manner when they got out of the cars under the South Portico.

“I hate to hold you here at this hour and under such circumstances, but we’ve obviously got to talk. The staff will make you comfortable in the solarium and I’ll join you there in twenty minutes with the latest war reports and anything else of significance.”

When they were reassembled, furnished with coffee and doughnuts, coats off and relaxing, as much as possible under the circumstances, in the solarium’s comfortable family chairs and sofas, he said, “Now, tell me: Have I destroyed the world?”

“Not yet,” Bill Abbott said with a grim little smile. “But it may come in ten minutes.”

“Did you believe all that?” Cullee asked, and Blair Hannah looked a little blank.

“How can you not?” he inquired. “It conforms generally to what we know from our own intelligence reports. Yes, I believe it.”

“And I,” Robert A. Leffingwell said.

“And I,” said several others.

“Then,” the Vice President said quietly, and now they all turned to the President where he sat, a little apart, in a deep rattan chair with bright, chintzy, summer-cheerful pillows that seemed almost frighteningly incongruous with the conversation, “where do we go from here?”

“We proceed with the new offensives I have ordered in Gorotoland and Panama,” Orrin said with equal quietness, “and we wait and see.”

“When will they occur?” Bob Munson asked.

“Within hours,” Blair Hannah said.

“And for all practical purposes,” William Abbott said heavily, “they will take everything we’ve got.”

“For all practical purposes,” the President agreed, still quietly, “they will take everything we’ve got.”

“And if they fail?” Warren Strickland asked.

The President looked him straight in the eye and did not flinch.

“Then I suppose the United States for the first time in its history will have to sue for peace on the battlefield. And I shall undoubtedly be impeached.”

“And what will happen to the United States then, Mr. President?” Bob Leffingwell inquired.

“I do not know,” the President said, and a certain iron entered his tone, “because I do not contemplate that the United States will fail.”

“But if it does, Mr. President,” his predecessor inquired with a grave persistence.

“I do not contemplate that,” Orrin repeated quietly, and William Abbott said in a tone both disturbed and compassionate, “But you must.…” He sighed heavily and leaned forward. “Orrin, you are asking us to take an awful lot on faith—your faith. You’re taking a terrible responsibility and asking us to share—”

“No more terrible than you took with the alert,” the President said sharply, “no more than many of our predecessors have had to take, in their time.… And you don’t have to share it with me, any of you, if you don’t want to.” His tone hardened. “You can go now, nothing’s to stop you. Blair and Bob Leffingwell, you can resign if you don’t want to be responsible.” A grim little humor touched his mouth for a second. “You haven’t been confirmed anyway, so what’s there to resign from? None of you has to stay with me, none of you has to help me—”

“As long as the armed forces will obey you,” Bob Munson suggested. The President paused in mid-sentence.

“I am the Commander-in-Chief!” he snapped. “Furthermore, while they’re concerned and upset, as we all are, as Blair and I both know they are, from the talk we had with them yesterday, still they will do their best for me because that is their training and their loyalty. And, I might add, this conforms to their instinct as military men—their instinct that there comes a moment when, if everything is tossed on the dice, if the moment is seized with courage and vigor, all will come right. They are going with me at this very moment, making the preparations I have asked them to, because in their hearts this is the way they would like to have it decided, cleanly and quickly and on our terms … which I do believe,” he concluded gravely, “can be achieved in a swift, decisive act.”