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belied his 52 years and past war wounds,
issued sibilant orders in a strange,
rapid-flowing succotash of sounds, smil–
ing tiredJy as he gazed at the faintly
visible Jights of tbe hills above San
Francisco, 40 miles away.
The huge submacine, slowing, tracked
around to 280°, .its computers whirring
and clicking, or quietly humming their
sterile electrical tune as they continually
fed corrective information - course,
speed, pitch, yaw, depth, distance from
target-into the impersonally somnolent
firing mechanisms of the hugc, bottle–
like missiles nestled, totally hiddcn, in
their immaculately dean cyl indrical
metal silos plunging from tightly scaled
deck-level doors into the bowels of the
ship.
They were tbe being and purpose
of this sophisticated undersea monster
-
those missiles. Everything, from
the cramped crew's quarters to the tiny
captain's cabin, and everyone, from the
least machinist's mate to the captain
himself, was subservient to them. Like
monstrously threatening ancient Molechs
or Dagons, they stood upright, quiet,
never stirring, yet perpetually poised
for instant, shatteriog, terrifying flight.
Their individual targets never
changed. Three of tbeir multi-megaton
nuclear tips were programmed to
explode high in the air over strategic
parts of San Francisco. Two would
ignite into thermonudear flashes of
destruction over Oakland, and othcrs
would fall upon preselected Air Force
and Naval targets.
Sighing with patient resignation, the
captain snapped orders, heard them
crisply repeated, watched the shining
tube begin its swift plunge, retracting
the periscope. The huge shape shoved
smoothly downward, toward safer
depths, to continue its endless, intricate
changes of course, always remaining
within a specific block of ocean, cover–
ing its preassigned target areas.
In San Francisco, the throaty roars of
the crowd at Candlestick Park soared
into frenzy as Willie Mays rapped a
sharp single into right field, loading tbe
bases against the Los Angeles Dodgers.
Atop the Mark, cigarettes winked dully,
as couples sipped their martinis, and
allowed their gaze to wander along the
Tht
PLAlN TRUTH
beautiful lights below - tbe Embarca–
dero, the
Bow
of red taillights going
north, and white headlights coming
south, autos along the Golden Gate
Bridge. It was a beautiful, rare, dear
night in San Francisco.
Nearby, at Naval Air Station, Ala–
meda, the young sailor heard the final
report. "Target Iost, last position
(check charts for accurate fix about 40
miles offshore). Possibly large scbool
surfacing dolphins." The roar of a
departing Electra, radically altered, with
its pipe-like tail extension, could be
heard faintly from inside commu–
nications, as another American ASW
patrol bomber, armed with the latest
electronic surveillance equipment, bored
into the bright night, headed for its
assigned sector far offshore.
Near Albuquerque, New Mexico, a
tired Lieutenant Colonel listened for the
thousaodth time, it seemed, to the care–
fully detailed report of anti-missile
magazine conditions - temperatures,
security reports, a stupid jeep accident
that had partially jamrned an expensive
door. Inside those deep shafts, ranging
along the bleak, eroded mountains,
were stockpiled the assorted shapes and
sizes of the weapons of modero ther–
monudear madness - which boasts
enough explosive force to more than
annihilate two world-fulls of people.
Tomorrow morning, his relief would
come in the form of pedantic, bespec–
tacled, career officer George Mac–
Doughty, and he would return to the
world of normalcy - perhaps he ought
to run up to Taos, for a bit of skiing.
Mary and the kids would like that, if
she felt it was OK to take them out of
school for a few days....
At Norad, a youngish officer reached
for the miltionth time, it seemed, to
grasp one of the many tape cassettes,
pre-programmed to flash instantaneous
messages all ovcr thc country- to DEW
stations, to missile si los, to aircraft
aloft, to selected public communications
centers, and to the White House.
Agbast, he suddenly heard the
unbelievable words stirring his con–
sciousness . . . "... radar identified as
enemy missiles incoming over ..." and
realized he had grasped the wrong
cassette!
April 1971
Fiction?
No. The submarines are there. They
are real. The nuclear weapons are not
only stockpiled in mountain magazines,
but carried daily back and forth in the
bowels of American and Soviet nuclear
submarines, in aircraft of both nations,
or nestl ing ominously in their under–
ground silos. Soviet submarines prowl–
ing America's Pacific shores replenish
at sea, or in far-off Vladivostok. Those
patrolling the Atlantic oc Gulf replen–
ish either at rendezvous at sea, with
their tenders, or at the Soviet submarine
base newly being deYeloped in Cuba.
The stored bombs are real. The pre–
programmed messages are real. Ameri–
can bases, equipped with B-52 bombees,
armed with nuclear bombs, ring the
Soviet Union. American nuclear subma–
rines prowl the waters of the world, off
Soviet Siberia,
in
the Mediterranean, in
the icy waters near the roof of the
world, or in the Sea of Japan. They
carry nuclear-tipped Polaris-type mis–
siles, capable of being fired from
beneath the sea.
Stalemate.
A continuing part of the deadly,
computerized, tape-cassetted, pre–
programmed Birtation with armageddon
- the accoutrements of a nuclear night–
mare - the war of nerves between the
superpowers.
Computerized Cosmodde
Not only do pre-programmed, spe–
cially cut tapes exist which warn of
enerny missile attacks, but pre-written
newspaper and radio releases also exist
which give general, horrifyingly encour–
aging accounts of "massive retaliation
heavily devastates major enemy targets."
What a shocking age - this 1971.
Now, warfare could be joined -
nuclear disaster which could forever
maim the world, potentially exterminat–
ing all humankind, or leaving only
pitifully warped, struggling survivors
- all by accident. A faulty transistor, a
sudden, unexplained surge of electrical
power, a nervous band inserting the
wrong pre-programmed orders into a
bank of computers - a chance mid-air
collision - these could plunge the
world into a nightmare of destmction.
Jt all began back in August 1945.
At 8:15 a.m. on that day, three United