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A deeper reason for the out break of contention is that the military is at a nadir of public confidence. Although the Pentagon has no monopoly on blame for Viet Nam — civilians made the major decisions — popular frustration vents itself to a large extent on the military command. The Pueblo incident, the Arnheiter affair and technological bobbles like the F-111 have further diminished public trust in the competence of military leadership. Dr. Daniel Fink, a former Pentagon engineer, who has frequently debated on the pro side of ABM, worries about "the belief that these decisions are made by fat, cigar-chewing generals laughing among themselves about billions of dol lars and megadeaths."
Capitol Hill senses this phenomenon. Sentiment against the Viet Nam war has run loose in Congress. There is a growing conviction that the brass is fundamentally unqualified to assess huge, intricate technical projects. Old fears of the "militaryindustrial complex" have been revived; more than 3,000 companies stand to profit from the ABM. Only a few years ago, skepticism toward military requests was almost suspect as being disloyal to "our boys." Indeed, it was Congress that, until recently, was pressing the Executive branch to move faster in producing the ABM, even to the extent of voting funds that the Defense Department refused to spend.
All that has changed. As the Paris negotiations have raised hopes, however often dashed, for peace in Viet Nam, Americans have become obsessed with the prospect of diverting to domestic programs much of the $30 billion a year that the war has been costing. The U.S. faces vast and pressing needs in the cities, the schools, the hospitals and the nation's very air and water. Many of its legislators and citizens thus see the ABM as a thief that would snatch away billions of dollars sorely needed for domestic use. The likely cost for the specific ABM program already begun is between $5 billion and $10 billion spread over several years—which is not really too immense a burden. But many are convinced that the ABM, once undertaken, is bound to grow in size and cost by geometric progression. Democratic Senator Stuart Symington of Missouri, a former Air Force Secretary who is generally sympathetic to the military, declared last week that the ultimate price of the system would be $400 billion.
The ABM is hardly new to controversy. No post-World War II weapon has had so long or difficult a gestation. In the inexorable minuet of military science, each advance in either offense or defense provokes efforts to restore the balance. Fourteen years ago, the So viets had no offensive-missile force to speak of, though they had the ability to build one. U.S. development started in 1955 and soon led to the first, primitive ABM project, the Nike-Zeus. Testing showed that Zeus could indeed stop an incoming missile under ideal conditions; dummy aggressors launched from California were intercepted by defenders based on Kwajalein.
Zeus, however, was merely "a bullet that could stop a bullet," whereas the anticipated threat was a shotgun blast of many projectiles aimed at the U.S. With limited range, relatively low speed and me chanically operated radars that could handle only one target at a time, Zeus offered only "terminal defense" — protection