III. We Can All Keep Perfectly Calm
“
In this Government’s view, a nuclear weapons-free zone would not present a practical step towards disarmament…this objective is best attained through collective defence arrangements and we have regarded the Anzus Treaty as the cornerstone of New Zealand’s defence policy.”
- Defence Ministry white paper, 1979.
“
I look at the sunrise
I look at it burn
I look into your eyes
Don’t know where to turn…”
At 8pm on February 21st, New Zealand households received a disturbing piece of news: as Soviet troops encroached upon the suburbs of Munich and Hamburg, it was revealed that Parliament had been disbanded and MPs outside Cabinet permitted to return to their constituencies, sparking fears that the Government knew something it was not letting on.
Although Muldoon went on camera to allay New Zealanders’ fears by stating “At this time, we have no fear of immediate Soviet attack…the Members are being sent to their electorates to help coordinate Civil Defence planning and maintain calm, despite the efforts of certain, ah, radical efforts to stir up trouble in aid of the Warsaw Bloc,” the heightened tensions would explain the panic which erupted in the lower North Island later that evening; an earthquake measuring about 5.3 on the Richter scale hit Turangi, and was felt from Wellington to Hamilton. In the circumstances, many feared the Soviets had launched a surprise nuclear attack on Ohakea Airbase or Palmerston North – that this had supposedly occurred without any sign of an exchange in Europe or even attacks on Wellington, Christchurch or Auckland simply did not occur to many in the circumstances. At any rate, this ensured the emergency services were on high alert well into the evening, and impromptu evacuations from the four major centres intensified.
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Underneath Parliament Buildings,
Wellington, New Zealand
12:52 am, NZDT
Rob Muldoon was sweating like a pig which had just heard the farmer’s wife ask for a side of bacon. That wasn’t due to any fear on his part – he was running on liquid courage, as he had been the last few days – but rather the heat which hung in the bunker under the Beehive in spite of the coolness which had descended outside in the wake of a cloudless night.
David Thomson was talking about the continued dispersal of forces across the country; although the sailing of the Wellington earlier that evening had raised some eyebrows, most civilians were too busy with their own preparations to pay the frigate much heed, and by and large the same had applied to the Air Force flights to Napier, Gisborne, and Rotorua. Whenuapai was being readied for operations as flights through the international airport at Mangere tailed off, and the Defence Ministry anticipated a total shutdown of air travel as the threat of shootdowns grew – at this stage the only flights out were those headed across the ditch anyway, reasoned Jim McLay, so would Auckland International not make a good staging point as well?
As Muldoon rumbled about the need to halt civilian travel altogether, and began to outline a plan whereby 40 Squadron could load up with the better freight handling facilities at the airport in Mangere, an MFAT mandarin swept in, flanked by two SIS men.
“Mr Prime Minister –” began the Foreign Affairs man, before Muldoon cut him off, eyes suddenly focused like a hunting dog on a scent.
“They’ve done it, haven’t they?” If it was a question, the Prime Minister’s tone didn’t seem uncertain at all. All eyes in the room bore upon the messenger, who could only muster a halting nod.
“Kassel, P-Prime Minister.”
“Ours or theirs?”
“The, ah, the High Commission wasn’t sure, sir; we got the message from across the road.”
Muldoon grunted. Time for someone to take the reins, then, and as he was the man for the job…
“Jim, pass it on to Ewan up in Trentham: we need to get the Army and Air Force out of Auckland and Wellington. George,” this directed at the Minister of Railways “get the commuter trains running. If the Americans tell us the Russians are firing at us, I want orderly evacuations up the Hutt Valley; out to Masterton if we can. Ben,” now the Minister of Police was in the line of fire “get the message out to the districts. We’ll need every officer we can ready to help keep order if the Communists try anything, from here or there.”
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Although, strictly speaking, TV broadcasting stopped after midnight, the entire country was going to be awake for some time, and the Government knew well enough to keep people calm with the reassuring faces who brought them their news in peacetime anyway. Dougal Stevenson was just that face. As the man who’d been the face – and just as importantly, voice – behind the country’s first TV news bulletin, he was an ideal choice for the task of announcing the news to the country. It was therefore his authoritative baritone which made the announcement at 1:25 am on both TV One and Radio New Zealand that there had been “
a small-scale tactical nuclear exchange somewhere in central Germany.”
This was the moment, then, where panic was properly unleashed, in the wake of an uncertain next few hours. To TVNZ’s credit, Stevenson stayed on the air through the night, reading out Civil Defence advice regarding the possible consequences of nuclear war, most of it verbatim from materials sent from the American embassy and British High Commission. Then, at a quarter to three, he was handed a piece of paper. Reading it, he blinked slowly and turned to the camera.
“
We have just received word of a second nuclear strike in Central Germany. Casualties among NATO forces have not been reported, but are feared to be in the thousands…”
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Drovyanaya, Chita Oblast
Transbaikal Military District
RSFSR, Soviet Union
10:31 pm local/2:31 am NZDT
Polkovnik Stanislav Ivanovich Ozerov (4th Missile Division, 53rd Rocket Army, Strategic Rocket Forces), was practically buried in a drift of paperwork rivalling the snow which lay outside, above his command bunker. He was tasked with implementing targeting plans in the Far East, and with the Chinese looking restive
Stavka was screaming down the line to bombard everything east of Irkutsk.
Right now, then, he was plotting targets to which spare missiles could be assigned. Fortunately the buildup of the last eighteen months had made sure they had plenty at their disposal, although there was the fear that the Imperialists would launch a surprise attack before the Soviet Union could strike at their dead heart – their reckless attack near Kassel had proven as much.
Co-ordinates were being programmed into UR-100s of various denominations, as long-range targets were located for destruction. A strategic strike was imminent; although air missions on the Pacific coast had been postponed, Ozerov was smart enough to know better (and if his superior hadn’t already been purged by Andropov’s successors, smart enough to be sent north to break ice off rocks and then the rocks).
He was therefore tasked with selecting cities in the Southern Pacific region to immolate. They had three missiles assigned to the Southern Pacific Operations Area; all with one megaton warheads equipped. Stroking his chin while also patting his pocket for his packet of cigarettes, Ozerov looked at the options, and nodded. Three names, their foreign English origins made no clearer by the Cyrillic print, loomed out as he typed them into a command console, before sending them to his subordinates.
Канберра, Австралийская столичная территория.
Сидней, Новый Южный Уэльс
Дарвин, Северная территория
As he prepared to move on to oversee the deployment of the missiles, his telephone rang. Ozerov picked up the receiver with a gingerness remarkable in a man who had just deployed the destructive force of three million tonnes of TNT.
“Yes, sir? Indeed? I see. It shall be done. I serve the Soviet Union.” This time he slammed the receiver down, snapping to himself “
Yobany v rot! Where in hell do those
khuys expect me to find spare weapons for the South Pacific when I’ve got a billion screaming yellow monsters over the border?” He sighed and sat heavily, taking a minute to make a protracted show of lighting a cigarette, the harsh tobacco smoke of the first drag sharpening his mind a little after 48 hours at his station. Then, a thought occurred. He picked up the receiver again, this time with the determination of one who knows his superiors won’t be around long enough to berate him if he messes up anyway. A voice answered at the other end.
“Ah Oleg, is that you? Good. I know. Yes, I have had another order from
Stavka. Tell me, what assets does the Pacific Fleet have in the Southern Pacific Operations Area with spare capacity?
Chto? Ah, excellent! Right, can you assign some extra targets to them? Yes, straight from Moscow via Chita.
Pizdaty; I have…” he scanned another telexed sheet, headed
Новая Зеландия which had been deposited as he spoke “…four targets to strike. What? Well, that’s good as it is, if you can relay that to our comrades in Cam Ranh…
Khorrosho.”
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