By the next day four distinct levels of air strikes had been identified: (1) against known MRBM installations; (2) plus airfields; (3) plus SAM sites and coastal missile sites; (4) plus other significant sites. The most limited air strike conceivable involved a ‘‘50 sortie, 1 swoop air strike limited to the missile complex, followed by open surveillance and announcement that future missile sites would be similarly struck.’’ The stronger action would aim to ‘‘eliminate all Cuban air power or other retaliatory capacity’’ and would involve up to two hundred sorties per day. These options combined in a number of permutations, in part depending on whether they would come with or without warning. A trade began to emerge between military and political moderation. A small strike might be manageable without warning, but warning mandated a big strike. The risk of not attacking the SAM sites was reduced so long as there was no opportunity for them to be readied for action. Kennedy had not attended the meeting, but McCone’s view, after briefing him, was that the president was ‘‘inclined to act promptly if at all, without warning, targeting on MRBM’s and possibly airfields.’’

At the time this was Rusk’s position. His colleagues in the State Department had more qualms about surprise attacks and no diplomatic initiatives. They had heard talk of swift and decisive action limiting political damage before and were unconvinced. It was an ‘‘illusion’’ that would probably lead to full war, judged Charles Bohlen, about to leave for Paris. He wrote in haste to Rusk to urge that diplomatic channels be fully ‘‘tested out’’ prior to military action, if only to establish a case for the action. George Ball was becoming concerned about the irreversibility of any air strike, as well as the large number of Russian casualties that would result from a full strike, and the consequent risk of a violent Soviet reaction. In a note on 17 October 1962 he stressed the importance of a moral line, given the stance adopted by the United States on Pearl Harbor, Hungary, and Suez. ‘‘It is my strongly held view,’’ he now observed, ‘‘that we cannot launch a surprise attack against Cuba without destroying our moral position and alienating our friends and allies.’’

Robert Kennedy, crucially, was now of this opinion. During the previous day’s discussion he had been in a transitional mode. One part of him was still in Mongoose, searching for ways to get at Castro and even at one point musing about the possibility of fabricating an incident to provide a pretext for intervention. His few interventions had a hard-nosed ring to them, though he never obviously argued for one course of action. By the day’s end, sensing his brother’s line, he grasped the set of political concerns that he held on to for the rest of the crisis. By the second day he saw how the European allies, having been ‘‘under the gun’’ for years, would now take the position that this reaction to a few missiles in America’s backyard was ‘‘hysterical.’’ The president was aware of the same risk: The allies thought the United States ‘‘fixated . . . slightly demented on this subject.’’ When Ball spoke of ‘‘carrying the mark of Cain on your brow for the rest of your life,’’ Robert again backed him up. The Americans had resisted a Russian first strike. ‘‘Now, in the interest of time, we do that to a small country. I think it’s a hell of a burden to carry.’’

Even civilian hawks such as Dillon and McCone were clearly uncomfortable with the idea of launching a surprise attack. On 18 October Robert Lovett, another prominent and generally hard-line figure in the foreign policy establishment, told the president that an air strike that resulted in great bloodshed would be deemed excessive when the insertion of missiles into Cuba was not a self-evidently aggressive act, ‘‘a sledgehammer . . . to kill a fly.’’ Also working against an air strike was evidence of the difficulty of keeping it limited. More intelligence came in on the Soviet offensive capability that would have to be destroyed. The discussion had started, on the Tuesday, with three possible missile sites. By Thursday, 18 October, the previous day’s U-2 imagery indicated a possible five sites, two of which might take the longer-range SS-5. Some sixteen of the shorter-range SS-4 were deemed operational and could be launched eighteen hours after a decision was made to do so. The SS-5s, by contrast, would take longer, possibly until December. There was no hard evidence that nuclear warheads had arrived.

The Joint Chiefs continued to oppose restricted strikes. In part this was because they were more politically ambitious. On 17 October they wrote to McNamara still proposing a comprehensive strike combined with a naval blockade, although the actual elimination of the Castro regime was now only an option (requiring an invasion) rather than a prime objective. Having failed to consider possible Soviet reactions the previous day, they now addressed this problem at some length and concluded that they would be manageable.43 Robert records his brother’s skepticism: ‘‘They, no more than we, can let these things go by without doing something. They can’t, after all their statements, permit us to take out their missiles, kill a lot of Russians, and then do nothing. If they don’t take action in Cuba, they certainly will in Berlin.’’

For the U.S. Air Force, dominated by a strategic bombing philosophy, a limited strike appeared as an unnatural act. No merit was seen in doing less than possible, and certainly not less than necessary. If there was a risk of failure, then the response was to add to, not subtract from, the scale and intensity of the strikes. In a transparent reference to Chief of Air Staff Curtis LeMay, Robert Kennedy later recalled ‘‘the many times that I had heard the military take positions which, if wrong, had the advantage that no one would be around at the end to know.’’ LeMay’s own immediate comment on possibly the same exchange was somewhat more coarse. He had just returned from Europe and was infuriated that he had not been consulted about the developing crisis. His conversation with Robert Kennedy was cut short after the latter had been informed that B- 52s could only use nuclear weapons. LeMay, angry at being denied the opportunity to brief the White House, observed, ‘‘What a Dumb Shit!’’

The Joint Chiefs never deviated in their advocacy of a comprehensive military strike. Moreover, their assessments of the number of aircraft required tended to grow, as they not only found new targets but also identified new tasks. Taylor at one point warned his colleagues, ‘‘You are defeating yourselves with your own cleverness, Gentlemen.’’ This was exasperating enough to the doves, anxious about the military’s insensitivity to the dynamics of the crisis. If anything, it was even more so to civilian supporters of an air strike, who found themselves being asked to subscribe to something far more substantial than necessary. This was particularly galling for Dean Acheson, one of the most forceful proponents of a surprise limited air strike aimed at taking out missiles. He observed later that when developing plans the military became so anxious to remove all possibilities of doubt that ‘‘the proposals are apt to be at least as dangerous as the original danger.”

On 18 October Sorensen reported that the tide was running against a limited strike, and the next day that this was ‘‘no longer recommended even by those who first proposed it because of the dangers presented by a surviving and substantial air capability. This build-up should be hit as a whole complex or not at all.’’ Yet Kennedy remained unconvinced. He never accepted the arguments for a comprehensive air strike. When the full NSC met on 20 October he ‘‘directed that air strike plans include only missiles and missile sites.’’