Battle Station by Ben Bova Page A

verified by extensive computer simulations, and is absolute proof that even a relatively small nuclear war threatens to end not only human life on Earth, but all life.
    â€œNuclear Autumn” takes it for granted that the Nuclear Winter theory is right. It shows one of the possible consequences. A very likely one, I fear.
    Â 
    Â 
    â€œThey’re bluffing,” said the President of the United States.
    â€œOf course they’re bluffing,” agreed her science advisor. “They have to be.”
    The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, a grizzled old infantry general, looked grimly skeptical.
    For a long, silent moment they faced each other in the cool, quiet confines of the Oval Office. The science advisor looked young and handsome enough to be a television personality, and indeed had been one for a while before he allied himself with the politician who sat behind the desk. The President looked younger than she actually was, thanks to modern cosmetics and a ruthless self-discipline. Only the general seemed to be old, a man of an earlier generation, gray-haired and wrinkled, with light brown eyes that seemed sad and weary.
    â€œI don’t believe they’re bluffing,” he said. “I think they mean exactly what they say—either we cave in to them or they launch their missiles.”

    The science advisor gave him his most patronizing smile. “General, they have to be bluffing. The numbers prove it.”
    â€œThe only numbers that count,” said the general, “are that we have cut our strategic ballistic missile force by half since this Administration came into office.”
    â€œAnd made the world that much safer,” said the President. Her voice was firm, with a sharp edge to it.
    The general shook his head. “Ma’am, the only reason I have not tendered my resignation is that I know full well the nincompoop you intend to appoint in my place.”
    The science advisor laughed. Even the President smiled at the old man.
    â€œThe Soviets are not bluffing,” the general repeated. “They mean exactly what they say.”
    With a patient sigh, the science advisor explained, “General, they cannot—repeat, can not —launch a nuclear strike at us or anyone else. They know the numbers as well as we do. A large nuclear strike, in the three-thousand-megaton range, will so damage the environment that the world will be plunged into a Nuclear Winter. Crops and animal life will be wiped out by months of subfreezing temperatures. The sky will be dark with soot and grains of pulverized soil. The sun will be blotted out. All life on Earth will die.”
    The general waved an impatient hand. “I know your story. I’ve seen your presentations.”
    â€œThen how can the Russians attack us, when they know they’ll be killing themselves even if we don’t retaliate?”
    â€œMaybe they haven’t seen your television specials. Maybe they don’t believe in Nuclear Winter.”
    â€œBut they have to!” said the science advisor. “The numbers are the same for them as they are for us.”
    â€œNumbers,” grumbled the general.

    â€œThose numbers describe reality,” the science advisor insisted. “And the men in the Kremlin are realists. They understand what Nuclear Winter means. Their own scientists have told them exactly what I’ve told you.”
    â€œThen why did they insist on this hot-line call?”
    Spreading his hands in the gesture millions had come to know from his television series, the science advisor replied, “They’re reasonable men. Now that they know nuclear weapons are unusable, they are undoubtedly trying to begin negotiations to resolve our differences without threatening nuclear war.”
    â€œYou think so?” muttered the general.
    The President leaned back in her swivel chair. “We’ll find out what they want soon enough,” she said. “Kolgoroff