Short Stories Complete by William Walling

Author:William Walling [Walling, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-11-21T00:00:00+00:00

Leaving the command center in Emmerson’s footsteps, Volpone tried to lie down for a while. Unsurprisingly, sleep would not come. Rolfe Emmerson’s call, half an hour later, provided a welcome excuse for rising and hurrying back down to M Level.

Obviously sorely troubled, the CIA Director met him at the elevator, leading him into an empty office. “Alex, it isn’t working out,” he said. “I just came front the lab; the medics are working in a frenzy, but with only five and one-half hours to go . . .”

“We mustn’t expect miracles,” comforted Volpone.

“Nor will we get them,” assured Emmerson. “The bacillus shows signs, of being hardy, laboratory-cultured; probably a mutated strain evolved over a period of years. If Hershkowitz were to develop effective antigens tonight, it would still take hours-days—to produce and administer serum. And I’m afraid we’ll lose three redoubts. Perhaps four.”

“Contamination?”

Emmerson nodded. “Denver-Cheyenne, Detroit-Cleveland, and Houston-Austin were all understaffed. At least one contaminated trainload slipped past the medical screening and entered each of them. New York-Trenton’s fate hangs in the balance; we don’t know whether or not they’ll be able to contain the infection on upper levels.”

“New York-Trenton?” Volpone was stricken. “I just spoke to Seymour and Vico,” he said. “Both are in that redoubt.”

“I know. We’ll continue to hope for the best, of course, but . . .” Emmerson paused. “What I was driving at, a moment ago, is that General Patt will not countermand the six o’clock strike unless the situation changes drastically. I sympathize with his position; he has the big picture to contend with. I’ve listened to arguments from his staff, trying to persuade him that military personnel from the ‘clean’ redoubts, wearing self-contained protective suits—we have a few dozen in stores—can go out later and man the SAC missile launch bases. Patt’s comments about inexperienced crews manning his SAC complexes were elegantly profane.”

Volpone was grim. “Not even in ultimate emergency?”

“Patt insists not, and I believe him; it couldn’t be done. We must deliver a massive, all-out strike if—”

“And go down swinging,” finished Volpone bitterly.

“Perhaps.” Emmerson sighed. “The alternatives are dear-cut. Between you and me, Alex, I have the gut feeling that once multimegaton warheads start flying back and forth between here and Russia, nothing in God’s universe will stop the conflict from ravaging the entire world. The result will be . . . Armageddon.”

“Frightening, but plausible,” agreed Volpone. “If it should come, we’ll have to survive belowground. Thank God we’re prepared!”

“Are we?” Emmerson regarded the other closely. “Think it through carefully. We’ve managed to bring a rag-tag collection of uninfected private citizens into the redoubts. Patt suspects, justifiably, that Russia’s postulated havens contain a number of Red Army divisions. What does that imply?”

“Invasion, of course, after we’ve spent our forces,” said Volpone, “and after radioactivity levels decrease to a point where Soviet forces can deploy. For us to strike now would only postpone the inevitable. If Patt’s right.”

“I think he is.” Emmerson radiated sudden enthusiasm. “But Patt mentioned something earlier which gave me a notion I think worth fallowing up.

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