It was Condition Yellow. Real.
So many things happened in his mind that he was astonished by the mere capacity to think of them all.
He would have to leave and so would Ted. Chuck could stay—no—Chuck was “military personnel” and entitled to the information.
It was going to ruin the pre-Christmas party.
And—What in God’s name am I thinking about a party, for? Hashed in his head.
“Condition Yellow,” in its latest construction, meant that enemy airplanes had been recognized over continental U.S.A. It was an alert, currently confidential, which was intended to reach and mobilize all Civil Defense people, police, firemen and other city employees, as well as “key” technicians in industry. For years, for many tedious years of drill, the inhabitants of big cities had planned for Condition Yellow. Henry thought, in the tumbling, muscle-weakening scramble of his mind, that all over America, men like himself, and women, would be reacting the same way to the identical two words.
Condition Yellow.
At the time they’d dreamed up a code to check alerts, Henry had thought the idea absurd.
He was glad now they’d done it. Green Prairie people like himself could at least be sure that CD headquarters—and that meant the military—believed the risk was great enough to warrant the shock and disturbance of a complete but quiet official turnout, on the Saturday before Christmas.
Next Henry thought of the Air Force “exercises” which had been going on for a month.