Total War

Chapter Four

The tiny alcove in the antechambers of the premier's office was oppressive Its cold, almost sterile stone seemed to close in on George Stromberg as he waited, pacing and smoking, looking for an ashtray.

He turned, hearing the premier's young male secretary reenter the room.

"The premier will see you now, Ambassador Stromberg."

"Thank you." Stromberg followed the secretary down the hallway, past the premier's formal office, then into another carpeted hall. They stopped before a small dark wooden door. The secretary knocked, then, without waiting for a reply opened the door and stepped aside for Stromberg to enter.

Stromberg waited until the secretary had gone to say anything-the premier rarely advertised the fact that he spoke excellent English.

"Mr. Stromberg, what an unexpected pleasure." Behind the desk, its green blotter bleached in yellow-tinged light, sat the premier.

"Good evening, sir," Stromberg said perfunctorily, then approached the desk. He could see only the bottom half of the premier's face, the stubble showing that the man had not bothered shaving for Stromberg's unexpected visit.

But was it unexpected, Stromberg wondered? If he had learned anything in three years of representing U.S. interests in Moscow, it was that every Russian politician was a consummate actor, and the premier was perhaps the best of all. "Sit down, please, Mr. Stromberg. You must be tired."

"I am, sir," Stromberg said, sitting in the worn leather chair opposite the desk.

The yellow circle of light from the old gooseneck lamp on the premier's desk left the man's eyes in shadow. Stromberg was unable to read his face "And why have you come, Mr. Stromberg? An urgent message from your government?"

"I see no reason why we should mince words, sir," Stromberg said.

The premier, Stromberg decided, knew him well.

The long, bony fingers of his left hand pushed a small glass ashtray into the pool of light and toward Stromberg. "Feel free to smoke, if you choose. "

"Thank you, sir," Stromberg said, then fumbled out his cigarettes and the Dunhill lighter which Jane had given him on his last birthday. Suddenly, Stromberg felt afraid. Had it been his last birthday, hers, everyone's?

"Mr. Stromberg, since we are speaking plainly, I assume your president wishes to convey some message about our recent decision to protect the internal security of the people of Pakistan. And how is your president, by the way? I was, in all honesty, expecting a call from him directly. But...I see this is not the case. Would that we could talk person-to-person as people think we do." He chuckled. Stromberg watched the premier's mouth in the light. The lips set into a tight half-smile.

"A formal note signed by the president will arrive by courier later in the morning. However, the president wishes me to convey his best personal wishes, and that he is troubled by what he can only interpret as an act of aggression-not only against the autonomous government of the people of Pakistan, but against our mutual interest of world peace. "

"It depends, Mr. Stromberg," the premier said. A match flashed in the darkness near his heavy brow, then a cloud of cigar smoke filtered into the light of the gooseneck lamp. "It depends upon how one interprets things. We are preserving peace."

"Mr. Premier," Stromberg said, clearing his throat, "you said we were speaking frankly. May I?"

"Certainly, Stromberg. We are old friendly adversaries. I sent your daughter a fur ski jacket for her eleventh birthday, remember?"

"Yes, sir-she still wears it often. In fact, she wanted me to thank you personally for the porcelain doll you sent."

"I mean no harm to you," the premier whispered, "nor to your wife and daughter, Stromberg. So tell me-the truth."

"Sir," Stromberg said, leaning forward in his chair, desperately trying to glimpse the premier's eyes. "My president's message was that if Soviet forces are not withdrawn from Pakistan to beyond the border with Afghanistan, there could be severe international repercussions, possible military intervention in Pakistan by U.S. and NATO forces."

"And you feel, Stromberg," the premier said, his voice tired-sounding, "that your president is talking about what you would call World War Three, no?"

"Sir, the president's message said nothing of global war."

"But total war was between the lines, was it not?"

Stromberg said nothing, and the premier went on. "I will speak frankly with you. It is hard, your not being Russian to understand us. We think in two different languages. In two different ways. You cannot think in the manner that we do, and we cannot think as you do. I appreciate your trying to learn our language. We see our movement into Pakistan as the only way to make our posture in Afghanistan tenable."

"As you, sir, must believe me," Stromberg said, lighting another cigarette, "when I tell you that a military response is our only tenable reply to your move."

"I know this, and for this reason I am sitting here with you at an unholy hour! I do not want a war with the United States. I have never wished this. But you must believe what I am about to tell you. In some ways it is highly secret, but you must know it if you are to prevent a war."

"The American press," the premier went on, "has called Afghanistan a Soviet Viet Nam. It is. But we cannot afford to withdraw from Afghanistan. The United States does not border Viet Nam-it is oceans and thousands of kilometers away. We do border Afghanistan. Some of our most important research facilities are near it. Today, the Moslem populations of our own territories grow restless. Were something the likes of which your government allowed to transpire in Iran to have taken place in Afghanistan, it could have spread into our borders. Guns and propaganda and fighting men are entering Afghanistan through Pakistan. This must stop. No one else in the world has decided to stop it, so we must."

"But, sir, the entry into Afghanistan is still the subject-"

"Of much debate, yes I know. I am tired of debate. Russian soldiers are dying in Afghanistan. Debate does not bring them back to life! If we were to pull out of Afghanistan, the Moslem peoples in the Soviet Union would view this as a sign of weakness and we might well have open revolt. For a variety of reasons, this could not be tolerated. You know this. It is common knowledge that our primary particle beam weapon research facilities are in an area close to Afghanistan and peopled largely by Moslems. We are advanced-vastly. No-the word is superior. We are superior to you in this field. We are-and you must believe this-at the stage where our particle beam weapons can be deployed terrestrially. I am not talking about laser-equipped hunter-killer satellites at thirty thousand meters overhead or some such. I am talking about cannon-like particle beam weapons which can destroy any American missiles or bombs before they can deliver their weapons and warheads. We are militarily superior."

"We are aware of Soviet strides in particle beam weaponry," Stromberg said. "The United States has made similar strides, in some instances along parallel lines."

"We know what you have and what you don't have," the premier said, almost bored. "Ask anyone who has the better of intelligence services. We do. The world knows this. And you must now believe me. This is why we have for so long been sincerely interested in strategic arms limitation talks-to limit nuclear weapons. We can survive with what we have, and still be victorious if need be. But I am not saying this as a threat."

"Then why are you telling me this, sir?"

"It is simple," the premier answered slowly. "We do not wish the destruction of the world. There. That is something your president can understand, something on which we are both agreed. We will not withdraw our troops from Pakistan until significant border regions of that nation are totally under Soviet control. We will then leave a residual peacekeeping force and conclude prosecution of the matter in Afghanistan. Within perhaps a few months, at most a few years, Soviet troops will be withdrawn from Pakistan. This, I pledge. But not before." He drummed his right fist down hard on the desk.

Stromberg watched the hand. His own father had been a roofer before forming his own construction business and rising in society. Stromberg remembered his father's hands-the huge knuckles. The premier had been a roofer as a young man-had Stromberg not already known that, the massive, raw-boned knuckles would have told him. "The United States certainly does not wish a war with the Soviet Union or any other power, yet we must again insist on the sovereignty of Pakistan."

"Mr. Stromberg," the premier said, "you are an ambassador-you are not paid to say what you think. I am a premier-I am paid to say what I think." He paused. Then: "I do not think the United States will risk a world war over Pakistan. You are bluffing-that is the expression, yes?"

Stromberg nodded.

"Bluffing, then. You have in the past-a great deal. You will again. We will sometimes acquiesce to your bluffing simply to avoid protracted difficulties. But this time, the Soviet Union will not back down. If the president chooses to make his ultimatum public, he will only lose face in the world community. NATO will not back you-of this, I am sure. The Warsaw Pact Nations can easily defeat even the most innovative NATO strategy in Europe. You are hopelessly outnumbered, my friend. If your president is foolish enough to begin a war with us, he will not win. He will be remembered as the destroyer of the United States, not its avenging savior. Perhaps he will be remembered as the destroyer of the world-if there is anyone left to remember him."

"You would risk that, Mr. Premier?" Stromberg said, incredulous.

"I speak of the welfare of my nation. A man must be willing to risk all for a cause he feels is just. Do you think this is only the prerogative of the West, my friend Stromberg? If you do, then you understand us less than I had thought."

"What can-" Stromberg stammered.

"Go and tell these things to your president, convince him of my sincerity and my earnest wish for peace. Do not trouble yourself to return here with the formal note. Your assistants can handle that. My formal reply shall be ready for return to your president by then. Now go." Stromberg started to stand up, but then the premier said, "A bit of advice to you. I like to think that as well as possible we have become something of friends over these three years since your posting here. Stay in the Soviet Union-you will be safe. At least, if you cannot, keep your wife and daughter safe here. I will guard them as if they were my family. Moscow is impervious to attack. It will be-in that eventuality-the safest place on earth for them."

Stromberg looked into the darkness as he stood before the premier's desk. "I used to have nightmares about something like this."

The premier whispered, so softly that the American ambassador could barely make out the words: "I still do."