Tomahawk by David Poyer

a two-hundred-kiloton W-eighty warhead. It was part of President Carter’s program to upgrade the B-fifty-two.”
    â€œRight, but what exactly does it
do?
What does its addition to the strategic arsenal buy for us?”
    Szerenci went to the board. In five minutes, he had outlined the Soviet air defense system, reduced it to a mathematical equation, and shown how a cruise missile could triple the number of U.S. warheads arriving on target. Dan was awed; in all the time he’d spent at JCM, he’d never heard a concrete justification for the nuclear Tomahawk. Now it lay on the board, spare and unequivocal as
E = MC2.
Szerenci raised an eyebrow. “You look like this is new to you.”
    â€œIt is.”
    â€œBut obviously somebody did this work at some point. Right? You could burrow back and find the roots of this at Program Analysis and Evaluation, a Secretary of Defensenamed Mel Laird, a study for Harold Brown. And the internal politics are fascinating. You’ve got SecDef and Congress fighting the Chiefs to get a weapon the services don’t want. You’ve got an Air Force program assigned to Navy sponsorship so the Air Force can’t torpedo it, and elements in the Navy using the Air Force as cover to get a weapon for the surface fleet without their own aviators shooting it down.
    â€œBut this isn’t a course in political maneuvering. Sorry, I’m interrupting your presentation; please go on.”
    â€œThat’s all I had on the weapon. Let’s talk about the developmental process next.”
    He flipped slides, going through interorganizational relationships, then the budgeting process. Heads bent over notebooks. He caught a smile from Mei. Maybe he should try again with her. But did he really want to get involved with somebody who’d already told him she was going back to China? What was he trying to do, replicate his failed marriage?
    He jerked his mind back like a disobedient dog, described the
New Jersey
installation, then closed and asked for questions. He took his seat with relief as the prof began his lecture.
    â€œCalculating the possibility of a disarming first strike. Is it theoretically feasible, or not?” Szerenci asked.

    They straggled toward Mr. Henry’s in a misty rain. Szerenci took one schnapps and pushed the other across the table. “Nice presentation.”
    â€œThanks.” Dan tossed the fiery sweet liquid back as Szerenci signaled the waiter for more. Cottrell looked away from them. They were all at the same table, but she seemed distant. Hectic spots flamed in her cheeks as she hand-rolled another cigarette. Not for the first time, he wondered if she was in the best of health.
    â€œMei, are we talking too fast? Are you keeping up with all this jargon?”
    Mei fingered her wineglass. “I understand what you are saying.”
    â€œWe’ll be getting into the Chinese strategic position ina couple of weeks. Maybe you can talk about how your forces are set up.”
    â€œI will try. Perhaps my uncle can help me.”
    Dan finished the second schnapps, feeling the glow. Two lit the fire. Should he go for another? Why not? he thought.
    â€œYou career Navy, Dan?” the prof asked.
    He glanced at his Academy ring, glowing golden in the bar light. “Trying to make a decision on that.”
    â€œThinking about the executive side? Consulting? Academia? A law degree can buy you time. And it’ll come in handy, whatever you do.”
    The idea of law horrified him. Being locked in an office with stacks of dusty books, helping whoever paid you to rip people off…. Szerenci flipped a card onto the table. “Or, I know some folks who are setting up a new research institute. Going to take on RAND and Brookings and CNA…. You decide. If I can help, come and see me.
    Dan caught Cottrell’s eye, and was startled to see hatred plain in it. She said casually, “I’ll have to get him over to my side