THE LAST TWEET

The U.S. nuclear code instructions are the length of a tweet (for real). At five am one morning at Mar-a-Lago, President Trump got the dreaded call from the Pentagon: a foreign nuclear missile launch. (OK, less real, but could happen.) Dr. Strangelove didn’t prepare us for Donald Trump.

“TO LAUNCH A NUCLEAR STRIKE,” Bloomberg Businessweek, Jan 20, 2017

“The commander-in-chief’s power is clear: He or she has sole authority to use nuclear weapons… The senior officer in the Pentagon war room must formally authenticate that the person ordering the strike is indeed the president. The officer reads a ‘challenge code,’ often two phonetic letters from the military alphabet…

“The war room prepares the launch order, a message that contains…the authentication codes needed to unlock the missiles before firing them. The encoded and encrypted message is only 150 characters long, about the length of a tweet. It is broadcast to each worldwide command and directly to launch crews.”

[5:12 AM, Mar-A-Lago]

“Sir! Highest priority call from Joint Chiefs!”

“Hold it. Middle of a tweet. Lemme finish.”

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“Sir! Sir! This is of the highest, highest urgency!”

“OK, OK, Gimme the phone. It’s always something with these guys…Hello, yeah, it’s me, President of the United States. By a landslide.”

“Mr. President, sir! This is General Joseph Dunford. As Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, I formally request a reponse to my voice challenge code: Echo Foxtrot.”

“Hey, who is this? Steve? Mike? You guys pranking me?”

“Sir, this is General Joe Dunford at the Command Center. This is not a drill. This is not a test. Request voice authentication response, Echo Foxtrot.”

“Look, I’m busy. You know who you’re talking to. What’s this challenge code crap, General? You gotta know I don’t appreciate challenges.”

“Sir, it’s on the laminated card you carry with you. The ‘biscuit.’ You must respond to the voice challenge code. Urgently, sir.

“Oh, for Chrissakes. I’m in my bathrobe. Let me get to my pants pocket.”

[10 second pause.]

“All right. I carry a lotta cards. Let’s see…Amex Ebony…Fandango…laminated…Charlie-Bravo? That the one?”

“Yes, sir…Mr. President, it is my duty to inform you of a possible nuclear ballistic missile launch from the last known position of Russian Federation submarine, K-372, Borei class, in the North Atlantic. Awaiting encrypted verification within ninety seconds. Request order for Defcon One and preparation for launch-code procedures.”

“Hold it, Big Guy. Who says it’s a Russian submarine? I don’t buy it. I don’t believe Vladimir would do that. To me? It could have come from anywhere. Iran. China. Kim-Jing-Jong — the chubby guy, North Korea.”

“Submarine identification is not in question, sir. It’s Russian.”

“This is from your very own hombres, General?”

“Yes, sir. Norad Supreme Command.”

“Have you checked with Breibart?”

“Sir?…The satchel is outside your bedroom, sir. We’re sending the aide in now.”

“Satchel? What the hell is the satchel?”

“Sorry, sir. Formal name. The emergency satchel. The nuclear codes briefcase.”

“For Chrissakes, Joe, talk American first. The Football. Nuclear codes. Got it.”

“Major Herlihy will be entering…now.”

“Melania, out! Man talk! All right, General. Let’s proceed. Is someone gonna video me? Because my hair — “

“Sixty seconds to verification, sir. Sixty seconds. Reminding you, we only have three minutes after that. We’re patching in the Required Principals — Mattis, McMaster — “

“Hold it. What about Jared?”

“Not a Required Principal, sir.”

“Terrible. Disaster. Who decided that?”

“Congress, sir.”

“Oh, those clowns. All right, let me get downstairs to the Versailles ballroom. We can use it as a Situation Room, sit around the Louis IXX table, with chairs I had made specially — ”

“Sir, no time! We’re getting word now….damn!…excuse me, sir. Verification delayed due to hyper-jamming, unknown to us. We’re trying to break through now, hold on, sir.”

“All right. Gives me time for a tweet.”

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“You, Corporal, with the briefcase. C’mere.”

“I’m a major, sir. ‘Sir, I must formally ask you to open the satchel. Recording commenced.’ Please read the documents, Mr. President.”

“Hmmm, codes, keyboard. This booklet. Hey, it’s really whoo, long… it’s….let’s see…75 pages! For Chrissakes! What the hell, Corporal?”

“Major, sir. It’s the procedure book, background. You only have to read one page, sir. Based on today’s date, turn to page 37.”

“Boil it down for me. Can you give me a Powerpoint? Couple of charts?”

“I can summarize sir. But you were briefed.”

“Busy that day. Nation’s business.”

[5 Second Pause]

“Sir, Joe Dunford again, at the Command Center. I’m sorry, but we cannot authenticate. Radar and satellite continue to track it, but we cannot be sure. You’ll have to make the decision, sir. Thirty seconds, sir.”

“How do we know this isn’t fake news, General? This is, like, a big-time decision. My military’s counting on me. Could be, like, really, really huge for me. Could we make a deal?”

“No time, sir. And no, it’s not fake news. We have collateral corroboration. NSA picked up a conversation with Putin. I’ll read from the transcript: “We must take the most severe measures. We cannot trust Trump, he is a — I’m pronouncing now — ‘malen’kiy oblapannaya poshlyak.’”

“What does that mean?”

“Sorry sir. It translates to short-fingered vulgarian.”

[15 second pause.]

“That’s horrible! Disgusting! Incredibly disloyal. He said that? About me? After all I’ve — He’s the vulgarian! He is! Bare-chested perv! Here comes the launch code, General. One-fifty characters — that, I can type really fast. With both thumbs!”

“But sir! We haven’t verified it yet! It could be a false warning!”

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“Sir, we have verification! It is not a Russian missile, repeat, not a Russian missile. Appears to be…inadvertent decoy activity, new technology. You didn’t send that code, did you, sir?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Thank God!”

“Obama did.”