James nodded, making a mental note.
General Larry T. Tyler, commander in chief of the Strategic Air Command, was getting ready to make his first serve of the tennis match between members of the headquarters staff when the beeper on his portable radio went off. But, like a baseball pitcher halfway into his windup, he completed the serve and managed to hit his Reserve Forces Advisor, Colonel Hartmann, in the left leg. Hartmann was distracted and didn’t expect his boss to finish his serve.
“Cheap shot, General,” Hartmann shouted.
Tyler raised his racket to offer an apology to Hartmann, who politely waved it off, then trotted over to the bench, where his radio was sitting. Tyler’s driver, a young buck sergeant named Meers, heard the beeper and immediately started up the General’s staff car, which was waiting just a few dozen yards away. In Tyler’s footsteps was his doubles partner, the former commander of Pacific Air Force’s Philip- pine-based Thirteenth Air Force, Major General Richard “Rat Killer” Stone, who was to become Tyler’s Deputy Chief of Staff of Pacific Operations in a few weeks.
It had been said that CINCSAC — the Commander in Chief of the Strategic Air Command — was a prisoner of his job, and to a certain extent it was true — the radio, the car, and the driver were his constant companions. But the fifty-six-year-old ex-Notre Dame football quarterback was determiiled not to let the awesome responsibility of his position disrupt his life — and that responsibility was truly awesome.
Tyler was in charge of the United States’ smaller but still potent nuclear combat force of ninety B-1B Excalibur bombers, two hundred B-52G and H-model Stratofortress bombers, ten B-2A Black Knight stealth bombers, six hundred Minuteman III intercontinental ballistic missiles, one hundred rail-garrison Peacekeeper ICMBs, fifty MGM- 134A Mustang road-mobile ICBMs, eight hundred AGM- 129A advanced cruise missiles, and one thousand AGM-131A Short-Range Attack Missiles.
In addition he commanded several hundred aerial refueling tankers, strategic reconnaissance aircraft, airborne command posts, and communications aircraft, and a total of about eighty thousand men and women, civilians as well as military, all around the globe — and his job was to stay within moments-notice contact with each and every one of his sixty active and reserve units at all times.
Although he was at the very pinnacle of his Air Force career, he was determined not to get jabbed in the ass by its sharp point.
As Tyler made his way to the bench where his radio sat, he noticed the amber rotating lights at the street intersection nearby — the SAC command post was recalling the alert crews, and the amber warning lights told other drivers to be aware of alert crews heading toward the flight line. Offutt Air Force Base had an alert force of four KC-135 aerial refueling tankers that would prepare for takeoff to support airborne command post aircraft at Offutt, as well as other strike and communications aircraft.
The alert crews were tested regularly to make sure their response time was always within limits. But Tyler knew the schedule of all alert crew exercises, especially for the E-4 and EC-135 aircraft — if enemy warheads were inbound, Tyler himself would transfer his flag of command and take an EC-135 airborne — and this wasn’t a scheduled exercise. His pace quickened as he grabbed for the radio; his tennis partners sensed his sudden anxiety, saw the rotating lights, and immediately made their way to their staff cars as well.
With Stone standing a discreet distance away — he had a Top Secret security clearance but was not yet recertified for the SIOP, or Strategic Integrated Operations Plan, after losing his command in the Philippines — Tyler keyed the mike to turn off the beeper and spoke: “Alpha, go ahead.”
“Colonel Dunigan, Command Center, sir,” came the voice of his command center’s duty senior controller, Colonel Audrey Dunigan. Dunigan was the first woman senior controller, rising through the ranks from KC-135 tanker pilot all the way to a Headquarters senior-controller slot. Dunigan was now the senior controller of the busiest shift in the Command Center, in direct communication with the Pentagon and all the SAC’s military forces around the globe, and she seemed to take charge of the place like no one else before her. “Zero-Tango in ten minutes. Command Center out.”
“Alpha copies. Out,” Tyler replied. Turning to Stone, he said, “Let’s go, Rat Killer. In my car. We’ll have a little impromptu on-the-job training.” He dropped his racket on the bench and loped toward his waiting sedan, not even bothering to make apologies to his staff — whom he knew would be right behind him anyway. Stone piled into the front seat beside Tyler’s driver and they roared off.
