Project Goofy

Adelbert Ambros Lajlos stood in silent contemplation at the podium. After a moment he warmed to the receptive audience—a defense industry crowd. His talk was entitled Game Theory and War: The Downfall of the Red Empire. He spoke quietly, confidentially, to these his special friends and colleagues.

“It is us or them,” said Ambros. “There is no other way. It is inevitable.” He paused to put on his genuine sadness face. “Millions—no, hundreds of millions—will die. But they are the enemy. We must build this revolutionary bomb, which has been named Project Goofy.” Ambros shook his head in dismay. “I do not know who decided that name. Not my first choice.”

“This administration has a no first strike policy,” said Herbert Jones, standing, from the audience. He shrugged his shoulders as if helpless.

“We save ourselves only by eliminating the threat before the threat eliminates us,” said Ambros.

“Can we eliminate the enemy’s threat in one strike?” a voice from the audience called out.

“Possibly,” said Ambros. “If our first strike is…impressive.”

“So some enemy nuclear warheads might get through? Strike the American populace?

“Yes, it is likely,” said Ambros. “Millions may be at risk.”

“Do we have a plan to protect American citizens in that event?”

“No,” said Ambros.

The General, sporting many medals and a look of officious disconnection, stood. “We have a great plan, a wonderful plan, for sheltering the…uh…important people of the country in that event.”

“Who are the important people?” a voice called out, from the back.

The General sat.

“So, mutually assured destruction isn’t a deterrent after all,” came another voice, “is that correct?”

“In my book Checkmate, How Game Theory Can Defeat the Red Menace I analyze several established truths of human nature in the light of game theory and conclude that we cannot trust our opponent. At the same time, our opponent does not trust us. In this scenario, one of us will inevitably shoot first,” said Ambros.

“So we have no choice?” said Herbert Jones.

“No choice,” said Ambros. “We must shoot first, with the biggest weapon possible.” His arms braced on the podium, he dropped his head just a tiny bit as he considered his next words very carefully. He nodded to himself and made his decision. “We must build Goofy, the ten-thousand mega-ton super hydrogen bomb. With it we will annihilate our enemy once and for all.”

The audience rose in applause, voices raised in support. Ambros smiled. With potentially enormous profits on the table the defense industry was highly motivated. He was their hero.

“God Bless America,” cried out Herbert Jones. The crowd went wild.

***

The next morning Ambros and Herbert Jones walked briskly down a wide, echoing hallway. Important people worked here, ensconced in their plush offices, protected by stern and willful secretaries.

“We must test Goofy,” said Ambros. “There is no other way.”

“The Director is opposed you know,” said Herbert. “The President, too. We have orders to stand down.”

“We shall see,” said Ambros.

Ambros and Herbert swept into an open foyer outside The Director’s office. Several secretaries sat in a line at desks, behind typewriters.

“Good morning Mr. Ambros,” said a chorus. Ambros cheerfully greeted each of them by name and asked about their families. He was a frequent visitor to The Director’s office.

He wore his usual layered gray suit, his face lit in a wide grin. Pudgy tummy and thinning hair aside, Ambros thought of himself as the life of the party, everybody’s favorite uncle. 

Ambros and Herbert were immediately ushered into The Director’s office. The Director motioned to chairs in front of his desk, invited them to sit.

“About Goofy,” said The Director. “You must realize—”

“Man is violent, belligerent and deceptive. War is his nature. Our enemies are preparing as we sit and speak. The collision is inevitable,” said Ambros.

“The President—”

“—will appreciate the danger this country faces from a godless enemy,” said Ambros. “An enemy committed to the destruction of freedom.” 

“You are telling us to start a thermonuclear war,” said The Director.

“I am telling you to start and finish a nuclear war.”

“Ambros—”

“Director, you know me. I am not an evil person. Not a bad man,” said Ambros. “It was not that long ago that we, together, calculated the optimal height of detonation for the atomic bomb.” He leaned in, spoke precisely. “To kill as many innocent people—the enemy—as possible.” Ambros sat back, casually crossed his legs. “Before that we, together, wrote strategy for firebombing entire city centers, a horrific death for tens of thousands.”

“We were at war—”

“We are at war now.”

“Not the same thing.”

“We have been war gaming various scenarios for a decade now,” said Ambros. “There is no winning, only losing, if we do not strike first.”

“Unprovoked nuclear war?” said The Director. “Seriously?”

“At least let us test Goofy,” said Ambros.

“There is concern, you know, that detonating Goofy may incinerate the earth’s atmosphere,” said The Director.

“My calculations do not predict such a thing,” said Ambros, dismissively.

“If you are wrong?”

“I am never wrong,” said Ambros. “You know this.”

“You would risk burning the planetary atmosphere?” said The Director, exasperation in his voice.

“Let me talk to the President,” said Ambros. “He’ll listen to me.”

“He’ll have you shot.”

“Goofy can save the country,” said Ambros.

“You know we are starting talks on disarmament next year.”

“Show them a ten-thousand mega-ton super bomb and they’ll negotiate faster.”

“He’s right,” said Herbert Jones.

“Hm,” said The Director.

***

Two months later Ambros was in the South Pacific, dehydrated from sweating, suffering from dysentery. He had the most abominable rashes in unmentionable places. His head pounded, his lungs ached. But it was not just the climate that had Ambros out of sorts.

Twelve hours from the first Goofy test and Ambros had run a series of blast calculations once again. This time, he noticed an error that froze him cold to his bone, even in the island heat.

The radio crackled.

“Ambros?” said Herbert Jones from Washington, his voice thin and raspy. “Bad news.”

Ambros picked up the radio microphone.

Click. “Tell me,” he said. He pushed aside his notes of calculations.

Click. “The opposition just detonated a fifty mega-ton thermonuclear device in some godforsaken place in the Arctic,” said Herbert. Even over the radio, his voice was strained. “Created a seismic wave that circled the world three times. Mushroom cloud up to sixty kilometers. Obliterated everything kilometers from the blast. Fallout still drifting on jet stream.” Static.

“Hm,” said Ambros.

“Goofy is two hundred times more powerful.”

“Destructive power does not scale linearly, Herbert,” said Ambros. “You know that.” A long moment of white noise.

“Are you sure your calculations are sound?” said Herbert.

“Don’t worry,” said Ambros. “I won’t incinerate the planet, you know.” But he wondered…

“I’m worried. So are many others here in Washington,” said Herbert.

“We have thousands of people and hundreds of millions of dollars invested in this project,” said Ambros. “The entire defense industry is counting on us. The President is counting on us.”

“The President wants results,” said Herbert. “He needs leverage for negotiations. He needs to know if Goofy is a go.”

“Hm.”

“No one will mind if you don’t vaporize the planet, you know,” said Herbert. “Run those blast calculations one more time, for me, will you?”

Click.

“Hm?” said Ambros. He was deep in thought, his doubt grew relentlessly. He was barely aware of Herbert signing off, the radio humming with empty static.

If he canceled after all the lobbying and preparations and money spent and promises made, he could say good-bye to his career and reputation, he knew. If he left the President without a bargaining chip for negotiations the opposition might win.

He sat alone all night in the dark, weighing heavily the course of his career, the well-being of his country, and the fate of the planet.

At dawn he rose, walked out into the early morning light. Hundreds of people were working on last minute preparations. Ambros crossed to the fortified control room, which he now knew would not protect those sheltering inside.

Click. Static. Herbert’s voice blared from the radio.

“Go or no go?” said Herbert. “The President wants confirmation.”

Ambros stood frozen, as in a trance. He gazed sightless at the dials and meters and switches around him. He thought once again of his calculations.

“Ambros?” said Herbert. Static noise.

“Go,” said Ambros.

***

Forty-eight hours later Herbert Jones stood in a small underground room, suffocating with stale air and darkly shadowed by emergency lighting. He stared over the shoulders of several radio technicians who struggled to establish communications with the outside world.

Global communication was sporadic, badly disrupted. Across the planet radio equipment had been fried by a massive electromagnetic pulse. It was slow business rebuilding even the most fragmentary of communication networks.

Herbert managed to gather some news from local ham radio transmissions outside the Goofy blast radius. It had taken two days to build even a cursory picture of events on the ground at Project Goofy. Notes in hand he now walked to the conference room of the underground command bunker in Washington, DC.

He took the podium. The room was crowded with important people. The General, The Admiral, The Director and The President were all there, impatiently staring at him.

“The good news is that the atmosphere was not incinerated,” said Herbert.

“Well, that is good news,” said The President. He was being sarcastic, but Herbert didn’t notice. He was preoccupied with what came next.

“However, it appears that flammable materials have been super-heated on a vast scale. This has triggered firestorms, many of which remain out of control, in cities and forests worldwide.”

“Globally? Including Washington, DC?” said The President.

“Fires in cities around the world are out of control. Forest fires in our western states continue unabated. Woodlands in the eastern states burned to the ground. Seismic shocks have reduced infrastructure to the ground,” said Herbert.

“Any word on overflights?” said The President.

“High altitude reconnaissance is limited by damage to electronic equipment. We do know there are dangerously high radiation levels hundreds of miles from the test site, even at the highest altitudes,” said The Director.

“Fleets in all oceans have been disabled,” said The Admiral.

“The Air Force is incapacitated,” said the General.

“The world is snowing radioactive fallout,” said Herbert. “A tremendous amount of debris and particulate matter was blasted into the upper atmosphere. The debris layer circles the planet. Global temperatures are already showing signs of decline.”

The room fell silent.

“Casualties?” said The Director.

“Impossible to estimate,” said Herbert.

“How about energy production?” said The President.

“Once firestorms are managed it may be possible to restart power stations. Most of the fossil fuel stores have been incinerated, so that’s a problem. The energy production and distribution infrastructure must be rebuilt, but we don’t know where we’ll get the raw materials. Industrial production is nonexistent.”

“Communication?”

“Until the batteries die.”

The General said: “The good news is that we can assume the opposition has been crippled as badly, or worse, than we have. We are, therefore, safe from attack.”

“Mission accomplished!” said The Admiral.

The General and The Admiral shook hands, pumped their fists in victory.

“Mission accomplished,” said Herbert Jones. “Indeed.”

***

Ten days later the damage assessment from Project Goofy looked marginally improved, at least when compared to initial projections. In many places across the country the power grid was surprisingly intact and power stations were able to generate electricity for small pods of communities.

In the command center in Washington, DC, Herbert counted his blessings, which did not take long because there were few enough of them.

Movement outside of the underground shelter was discouraged due to continued radiation fallout. Communication remained fitful and unreliable, but there were signs of improvement. Some phone lines were working, but the main mode of communication was radio. Ham radio operators across the country helped tie communities back together.

Once again Herbert stood behind the podium, speaking to his restless, captive audience. Today he spoke about long-term projections for government and society.

“With reconnaissance and scientific flights coming back into operation we are starting to develop some limited situational awareness,” said Herbert. “It appears that Goofy blasted a hole in the ozone layer. Ultraviolet radiation is extreme in a wide region around the Project Goofy site.”

“Have we entered the Goofy site yet?” said The President.

“We have some teams rotating through,” said Herbert. “Radiation is still too high, so they can’t do too much at any one time. We need better protective gear and resources.”

“High altitude overflights reveal that Goofy is a wasteland,” said The Director.

“What do we project for the future?” said The President.

“Radiation sickness, high rates of miscarriage and birth defects, sterility, food chain disruption. Scientists are calling it the start of a mass extinction event,” said Herbert.

“Government is badly compromised. Multiple factions have appeared, claiming power. In Congress many Representatives and Senators are sick or dead at this time. Half the Supreme Court too sick to serve,” said The Director.

A radio technician slipped in the door, handed Herbert a message.

“Survivors have been found in the Project Goofy command blockhouse,” said Herbert.

***

“Pain reduction, is all we can do,” said the physician that Herbert spoke with. “We’re talking imminent major organ failure. We are fighting multiple sources of infection.”

“How many were brought in?” said Herbert.

“A handful…seven actually,” said the doctor.

“Can I see him?” said Herbert.

“Why not? He won’t last long, I think,” said the doctor. “We got him way too late to be able to help much.”

Herbert stood staring at Ambros, or what was left of him. His body was emaciated, fragile. His normally fleshy face, swathed in gauze, was thin and gaunt.

As he approached Ambros opened one eye. The eyelid of the other looked…melted in place. But the one open eye tracked Herbert. He could not smile, but Herbert imagined he was trying.

“Goofy worked,” said Ambros in a low croaking moan, barely audible.

“Yes,” said Herbert.

“Oops,” said Ambros. He paused for quite a long time to let the pain of speaking pass. After a while his breathing stabilized.

“Small calculation,” whispered Ambros. “Missed it.”

Herbert had no reply to that.

“How many?” Ambros gained strength, for the moment.

“Uh…hard to say,” said Herbert.

“The opposition?”

“Well, far as we can tell, they were wiped out completely,” said Herbert.

Ambros was silent. For several minutes only the sound of the pumps and machines and the clock on the wall filled the room.

“Good,” said Ambros, finally.

Herbert had no idea what to say this man, whose arrogance and fear had possibly triggered the destruction of the human race. I helped him, thought Herbert.

“I’m feeling better,” said Ambros. “Can’t wait to get back to work.”

“Hm,” said Herbert.

“Not fair, you know,” said Ambros.

“What do you mean?”

“Me dying. It’s not fair.”

Herbert pressed his eyes shut. It’s not fair, he thought. Indeed.

“I’m done with weapons work, you know,” said Ambros. “I’ve always wanted to work on more wholesome things. If I live…”

Herbert thought: You never once considered not building weapons and dropping them on people.

“I’m done,” said Ambros, after a while, in defeat.

“Do you need more pain medication?”

“Ironic, you know?” said Ambros. “I’ve planned the death of millions over my career, in the name of my government. They deserved it, I told myself. Now, I face my own death and I am terrified.”

Herbert Jones had no words. Ambros coughed, spastic and painful to hear.

“But we won,” wheezed Ambros. “We beat ‘em. At least I have that.”

Herbert left the hospital. The sun was setting, a brilliant reddish orange glow. Particulates in the atmosphere, thought Herbert. He walked to his waiting car quickly, mindful of the continuing fallout.

“Command center,” he instructed the driver.

 He had no home or family to go to.